THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

GIFT  OF 
Mrs.   Thomas  L.  Brown 


. 


o 

88 


SELECT 


YOUTH'S  COMPANION. 


COMPRISING   A  SELECTION  OF  THE  WORKS  OF  SOME  OF  THE 
MOST   EMINENT  MORAL  WRITERS. 


"  How  happy  is  the  man  who  hears 

Instruction's  warning  voice; 
And  who  celestial  Wisdom  makes 
His  early,  only  choice." 


PART  I. 


PHILADELPHIA : 
A.  I.  DICKINSON,  PRINTER  AND  PUBLISHER, 

S.  W.  CORNER  OF  SIXTH  AND  CHERRV   STREETS. 
FOR  SALE  BY  THE  BOOKSELLERS  GENERALLY- 


1S38. 


OK1G1NAL  POEMS, 


YOUTHFUL  MINDS. 


ANN  AND  JANE  TAYLOR,  AND  OTHERS, 


A  TRUE  STORY. 


"  Ah,  look!"  said  the  child,  "  at  that  carnage,  marnrna, 

All  covered  with  varnish  and  gold, 
Those  ladies  are  riding  so  charmingly  there, 

While  we  have  to  walk  in  the  cold." 

Sf.e  page  5* 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 


A  TRUE  STORY. 

LITTLE  ANN  and  her  mother  were  walking  one  d 
Through  London's  fine  city  so  fair ; 

And  business  obliged  them  to  go  by  the  way 
That  led  them  through  Cavendish  Square. 

And  as  they  passed  by  the  great  house  of  a  lord-, 

A  beautiful  chariot  there  came, 
To  take  some  most  elegant  ladies  abroad, 

Who  straightway  got  into  the  same. 

The  ladies  in  feathers 'and  jewels  were  seen^ 

The  chariot  was  painted  all  o'er 
The  footmen ''behind  were  in  silver  and  green, 

And  four  horses  galloped  before. 

Little  Ann,  by  her  mother  walked  silent  and  sad, 
A  tear  trickled  down  from  her  eye  ; 

Till  her  mother  said,  Ann,  I  should  be  very  glad 
To  know  what  it  is  makes  you  cry. 

Ah,  look !  said  the  child,  at  that  carriage,  mamma, 

AH  covered  with  varnish  and  gold, 
Those  ladies  are  riding  so  charmingly  there, 

While  we  have  to  walk  in  the  cold. 

You  say, God  is  kind  to  the  folks  that  are  good  ; 

But  surely  it  cannot  be  true; 
Or  else  I  am  certain,  almost,  that  he  would 

Give  such  a  fine  carriage  to  you. 

Look-there,  little  girl,  said  her  mother,  and  see 
What  stands  at  that  very  coach  door ; 


6  ORIGINAL 

A  poor  ragged  beggar,  and  listen  how  she 
A  halfpenny  stands  to  implore. 

All  pale  is  her  face,  and  deep  sunk  is  her  eye, 
Her  hands  look  like  skeleton's  bones  ; 

She  has  got  a  few  rags  just  about  her  to  tie, 
And  her  naked  feet  bleed  on  the  stones. 

Dear  ladies,  she  cries,  and  the  tears  trickle  down, 

Relieve  a  poor  beggar,  I  pray ; 
I've  wandered  all  hungry  about  this  wide  town, 

And  not  ate  a  morsel  to-day. 

My  father  and  mother  are  long  ago  dead, 

My  brother  sails  over  the  sea; 
And  I've  not  a  rag  or  a  morsel  of  bread, 

As  plainly  I'm  sure  you  may  see. 

A  fever  I  caught  which  was  terribly  bad, 

But  no  nurse  or  physic  had  I ; 
An  old  dirty  shed  was  the  house  that  I  had, 

And  only  on  straw  could  I  lie. 

And  now  that  I'm  better,  yet  feeble  and  faint, 
And  famished,  and  naked,  and  cold, 

I  wander  about  with  my  grievous  complaint, 
And  seldom  get  aught  but  a  scold. 

Some  will  not  attend  to  my  pitiful  call, 
Some  think  me  a  vagabond  cheat, 

And  scarcely  a  creature  relieves  me,  of  all 
The  thousands  that  traverse  the  street. 

Then  ladies,  dear  ladies,  your  pity  bestow  ;•— 
Just  then  a  tall  footman  came  round, 

And  asking  the  ladies  which  way  they  would  go, 
The  chariot  turned  off  with  a  bound. 

Ah  !  see,  little  girl,  then  her  mother  replied, 

How  foolish  it  was  to  complain ; 
*  If  you  had  but  looked  at  the  contrary  side, 
Your  tears  would  have  dried  up  again> 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  7 

Your  house,  and  your  friends,  and  your  victuals,  and 
bed 

'Twas  God  in  his  mercy  that  gave, 
You  did  not  deserve  to  be  covered  and  fed, 

And  yet  all  these  blessings  you  have. 

This  poor  little  beggar  is  hungry  and  cold, 

No  father  nor  mother  has  she ; 
And  while  you  can  daily  such  objects  behold, 

You  ought  quite  contented  to  be.    « 

A  coach  and  a  footman,  in  gaudy  attire, 
Can't  give  true  delight  to  the  breast ; 
.  To  be  good  is  the  thing  you  shoold  chiefly  desire, 
And  then  leave  to  God  all  the  rest,  A.  T, 

THE  BIRD'S  NEST. 

Now  the  sun  rises  bright  and  soars  high  in  the  air, 

The  trees  smile  around  us  in  green  ; 
The  svveet  little  birds  to  the  meadows  repair, 
And  pick  up  the  moss,  and  the  lamb's  wool,  and  hair, 

To  make  their  nests  soft,  warm,  and  clean, 

High  up  in  some  tree,  far  away  from  the  town, 

Where  they  think  naughty  boys  cannot  creep, 
They  build  it  with  twigs,  and  they  line  it  with  down, 
And  lay  their  neat  eggs,  speckled  over  with  brown, 
And  sit  till  the  little  ones  peep. 

Then  come,  little  boy,  let  us  go  to  the  wood, 

And  climb  up  the  very  tall  tree ; 
And  while  the  old  birds  are  gone  out  to  get  food^ 
We'll  take  down  the  nest,  and  the  chirruping  brood, 

And  divide  them  betwixt  you  and  me, 

But  ah  \  don't  you  think  'would  be  wicked  and  bad, 

To  take  their  poor  nestlings  away  ; 
And  after  the  toil  and  the  trouble  they've  had, 
When  they  think  themselves  safe,  and  are  singing  so 
glad, 

To  spoil  all  their  work  for  our  play  V 


ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

Suppose  that  some  monster,  a  dozen  yards  high* 

Should  stalk  up  at  night  to  your  bed ; 
And  out  of  the  window  along  with  you  fly, 
And  stop  not  to  bid  your  dear  parents'  good  bye, 

Nor  care  for  a  word  that  you  said ; 

And  take  you  away»  not  a  creature  knows  where, 

And  fasten  you  down  with  a  chain  ; 
And  feed  you  with  victuals  you  never  could  bear, 
And  hardly  allow  you  to  breathe  the  fresh  air, 

Or  ever  to  come  back  again. 

Oh  !  how  you  would  cry  for  your  dearest  mamma, 

And  long  to  her  bosom  to  run; 
And  beat  your  poor  head  at  your  hard  prison  bar, 
And  hate  the  vile  monster  that  took  you  so  far, 

For  nothing  at  all  but  his  fun. 

Then  say,  little  boy,  shall  we  climb  the  tall  tree? 

Ah  !  no,  but  this  lesson  we'll  Jearn, 
That  'twould  just  as  cruel  and  terrible  be, 
As  if  a  great  monster  should  take  away  thee, 

Not  ever  again  to  return 

Then  sleep  little  innocents  sleep  in  your  nest, 

^We  mean  not  to  take  you  away ; 
And  when  the  next  summer  shall  wear  her  green , 

vest, 
And  the  woods  in  a  robe  of  rich  foliage  be  drest, 

Your  songs  shall  our  kindness  repay. 

When  the  spring  shall  return,  to  the  woodlands  we'll 

hie, 

*And  sit  by  yon  very  tall  tree ; 
And  rejoice,  as  we  hear  your  sweet  carols  on  high, 
With  silken  wings  soaring  amid  the  blue  sky, 

That  we  left  you  to  sing  and  be  free.  Iderfa. 


ORIGINAL    FOEMS. 

THE  HAND  POST. 

THE  night  was  dark,  the  sun  .was  hid 
Beneath  the  mountain  gray ; 

And  not  a  single  star  appear'd, 
To  shoot  a  silver  ray. 

Across  the  Iieath  the  owlet  flew, 
And  screanrd  along  the  blast, 

And  onward,  with  a  quicken'd  step, 
Benighted  Henry  past. 

At  intervals,  amid  the  gleom, 
A  flash  of  light'ning  play'd, 

And  show'd  the  ruts  with  water  fill'd, 
And  the  black  hedge's  shade. 

Again,  in  thickest  darkness  plung'd, 

He  grop'd  his  way  to  find ; 
And  now  he  thought  he  spied  beyond, 

A  form  of  horrid  kind. 

In  deadly  white  it  upward  rose, 

Of  cloak  or  mantle  bare, 
And  held  its  naked  arms  across, 

To  catch  him  by  the  hair. 

Poor  Henry  felt  his  blood  run  cold 

At  what  before  him  stood ; 
But  well,  thought  he,  no  Harm,  I'm  sure, 

Can  happen  to  the  good. 

So  calling  all  his  courage  up, 

He  to  the  goblin  went ; 
And  eager  through  the  dismal  gloom, 

His  piercing  eyes  he  bent. 

And  when  he  came  well  nigh  the  ghost 
That  gave  him  such  affright, 

He  clapt  his  hands  upon  his  side, 
And  loudly  laugh'd  outright. 


For  'twas  a  friendly  hand-post  stood, 

His  wand'ring  steps  to  guide ; 
And  thus  he  found  that  to  the  good 

No  evil  should  betide. 

And  well,  thought  he,  one  thing  I've  learnt, 

Nor  soon  shall  I  forget, 
Whatever  frightens  me  again, 

To  march  straight  up  to  it. 

And  when  I  hear  an  idle  tale 

Of  goblins  and  a  ghost, 
I'll  tell  of  this  my  lonely  walk, 

And  the  tall'  white  Hand  Post.  Idem. 


SPRING. 

AH  !  see  how  the  ice  is  all  melting  away, 
The  rivers  have  burst  from  their  chain ; 

The  woods  and  the  hedges  with  verdure  look  gay, 
And  daisies  enamel  the  plain. 

The  sun  rises  high,  and  shines  warm  o'er  the  dale, 
The  orchards  with  blossoms  are  white ; 

The  voice  of  the  woodlark  is  heard  in  the  vale, 
And  the  cuckoo  returns  from  her  flight. 

Young  lambs  sport  and  frisk  on  the  sides  of  the  hill, 
The  honey-bee  wakes  from  her  sleep, 

The  turtle-dove  opens  her  soft  cooing  bill, 
And  snow-drops  and  the  primrose  peep. 

AH  nature  looks  active,  delightful,  and  gay 

The  creatures  begin  their  employ ; 
Ah  !  let  me  not  be  less  industrious  than  they, 

An  idle,  or  indolent  boy. 

Now  while  in  the  spring  of  my  vigour  and  bloom, 

In  the  paths  of  fair  learning  I'll  run ; 
Nor  let  the  best  part  of  my  being  consume, 

With  nothing  of  consequence  done. 


ORIGINAL    POEJM3.  1  1 

Thus  while  to  my  lessons  with  care  1  attend, 

And  store  up  the  knowledge  I  gain, 
When  the  winter  of  age  shall  upon  me  descend, 

'Twill  cheer  the  dark  season  of  pain.  Idem. 


SUMMER. 

THE  heats  of  the  summer  come  hastily  on, 
The  fruits  are  transparent  and  clear ; 

The  buds  and  the  blossoms  of  April  are  gone, 
And  the  deep-colour'd  cherries  appear. 

The  blue  sky  above  us  is  bright  and  serene, 

No  cloud  on  its  bosom  remains  ; 
And  woods,  and  the  fields,  and  the  hedges  are  green, 

And  the  hay-cock  smells  sweet  from  the  plains. 

Down  fair  in  the  valley  where  bubbles  the  spring, 
Which  soft  through  the  meadow-land  glides, 

The  lads  from  the  mountain  the  heavy  sheep  bring, 
And  shear  the  warm  coat  from  their  sides. 

Ah !  let  me  lie  down  in  some  shady  retreat, 

Beside  the  meandering  stream, 
For  the  sun  darts  abroad  an  unbearable  heat, 

And  burns  with  his  over-head  beam.  , 

There  all  the  day  idle,  my  limbs  I'll  extend, 

Fann'd  soft  to  delicious  repose  ; 
While  around  me  a  thousand  sweet  odours  ascend, 

From  ev'ry  gay  wood-flow'r  that  blows. 

But  hark  from  the  lowlands  what  sounds  do  1  hear, 

The  voices  of  pleasure  so  gay ; 
The  merry  young  hay-makers  cheerfully  bear 

The  heat  of  the  hot  summer's  day. 

While  some  with  bright  scythe,  singing  shrill  to  the 
stone, 

The  tall  grass  and  butter  weeds  mow, 
Some  spread  jt  with  rakes,  and  by.others  'tis  thrown 

Into  sweet-smelling  cocks  in  a  row. 


12  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

Then  since  joy  and  glee  with  activity  join, 

This  moment  to  labour  I'll  rise; 
While  the  idle  love  best  in  the  shade  to  recline, 

And  waste  precious  time  as  it  flies. 

To  waste  precious  time  we  can  never  recall, 

Is  waste  of  the  wickedest  kind  : 
An  instant  of  life  has  more  value  than  all 

The  gold  that  in  India  they  find. 

Not  di'monds  that  brilliantly  beam  in  the  mine, 
For  one  moment's  time  should  be  giv'n ; 

For  gems  can  but  make  us  look  gaudy  and  fine, 
But  time  can  prepare  us  for  heav'n.  Idem. 


.AUTUMN.  '    » 

THE  sun  is  far  risen  above  the  old  trees, 

His  beams  on  the  silver  dew  play ; 
The  gossamer  tenderly  waves  in  the  breeze, 

And  the  mists  are  fast  rolling  away. 

Let  us  leave  the  warm  bed,  and  the  pillow  of  down, 

The  morning  fair  bids  us  arise, 
Little  boy— for  the  shadows  of  midnight  are  flown, 

And  the  sun  beams  peep  into  our  eyes. 

We'll  pass  by  the  garden  that  leads  to  the  gate, 

But  where  is  its  gaiety  now  1 
The  Michaelmas  daisy  blows  lonely  and  late, 

And  the  yellow  leaf  whirls  from  the  bough. 

Last  night  the  glad  reapers  their  harvest  home  sung, 
And  stor'd  the  full  garners  with  grain ; 

Did  you  hear  how  the  woods  with  their  merry  shouts 

rung, 
As  they  bore  the  last  sheaf  from  the  plain  ? 

But  hark  !  from  the  woodlands  the  sound  of  a  gun  1 

The  wounded  bird  flutters  and  dies: 
Ah  !  surely  'tis  wicked,  for  nothing  but  fun, 

Tc  shoot  the  poor  thing  as  it  flies. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  13 

The  timid  hare  too,  in  affright  and  dismay, 

Runs  swiftly  through  the  brushwood  and  grass; 

How  she  turns,  how  she  winds,  and  tries  every  way, 
But  the  cruel  dog  won't  let  her  pass. 

Ah  !  poor  little  partridge,  and  pheasant,  and  hare, 

I  wish  they  would  leave  you  to  live ; 
For  my  part  I  wonder  how  people  can  bear 

To  see  all  the  torment  they  give. 

When  Reynard  at  midnight  steels  down  to  the  farm, 
And  kills  the  poor  chickens  and  cocks ; 

Then  rise  farmer  Goodman,  there  can  be  no  harm 
In  killing  a  thief  of  a  fox. 

But  the  innocent  hare,  and  the  pheasant  so  sleek, 

'Twere  cruel  and  wicked  to  slay: 
The  partridge  with  blood  never  reddened  her  beak, 

Nor  hare  stole  the  poultry  away. 

If  folks  would  but  think  of  the  torture  they  give, 

To  creatures  who  cannot  complain, 
I  think  they  would  let  the  poor  animals  live, 

Nor  ever  go  shooting  again.  Idem, 

WINTER. 

BEHOLD  the  grey  branches  that  stretch  from  the  trees, 
Nor  blossoms  nor  verdure  they  wear ! 

They  rattle  and  shake  to  the  northerly  breeze, 
And  wave  their  long  arms  in  the  air. 

The  sun  hides  his  face  in  a  mantle  of  clouds, 

Dark  vapours  roll  over  the  sky  ! 
The  wind  through  the  wood  halloes  hoarsely  and  loud, 

And  sea-birds  across  the  land  fly. 

Come  in,  little  Charles,  for  the  snow  patters  down, 

No  paths  in  the  garden  remain : 
The  streets  and  the  houses  are  white  in  the  town, 

And  white  are  the  fields  and  the  plain. 


14  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

Come  in,  little  Charles,  from  this  tempest  of  snow. 

'Tis  dark  and  the  shutters  we'll  close; 
We'll  put  a  fresh  faggot  to  make  the  fire  glow, 

Secure  from  the  storm  as  it  blows. 

But  how  many  wretches  without  house  or  home, 

Are  wandering  naked  and  pale : 
Obliged  on  the  snow-covered  common  to  roam, 

And  pierced  by  the  pitiless  gale. 

No  house  for  their  shelter,  no  victuals  to  eat, 

No  bed  for  their  limbs  to  repose; 
Or  a  crust  dry  and  mouldy,  the  best  of  their  meat, 

And  their  pillow  a  pillow  of  snows. 

Be  thankful,  my  child,  that  it  is  not  your  lo£, 

To  wander  an  orphan  and  poor ; 
A  father,, and  mother,  and  home  you  have  got, 

And  yet  you  deserve  them  no  more. 

Be  thankful,  my  child  and  forget  not  to  pray, 

Give  thanks  to  that  Father  above, 
Who  gives  you  so  many  more  blessings  than  they, 

And  crowns  your  whole  life  with  his  love.     Idem. 


TO  A  BUTTERFLY,  ON  GIVING  IT  LIBERTY. 

POOR  harmless  insect,  thither  fly, 

And  life's  short  hour  enjoy ; 
'Tis  all  thou  hast,  and  why  should  I 

That  little  all  destroy] 

Why  should  my  tyrant  will  suspend, 

A  life  by  wisdom  given, 
Or  sooner  bid  thy  being  end, 

Than  was  designed  by  heaven. 

Lost  to  the  joy  which  reason  knows. 

Ephemeral  and  frail, 
'Tis  thine  to  wander  where  the  rose 

Perfumes  the  cooling  gale. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  125 

'To  bask  upon  the  sunny  bed, 

The  damask  rose  to  kiss, 
To  range  along  the  bending  shade, 

Is  alfthy  little  bliss. 

Then  flutter  still  thy  silken  wings, 

In  rich  embroidery  drest, 
And  sport  upon  the  gale  that  flings 

Sweet  odours  from  his  vest.  Idem. 


THE  TEMPEST. 

SEE,  the  dark  vapours  cloud  the  sky, 
The  thunder  rumbles  round  and  round ; 

The  lightning's  flash  begins  to  fly, 
Big  drops  of  rain  bedew  the  ground; 

The  frightened  birds,  with  ruffled  wing, 

Fly  through  the  air  and  cease  to  sing. 

Now  nearer  rolls  the  mighty  peal, 
Incessant  thunder  roars  aloud ; 

Toss'd  by  the  winds  the  tall  oaks  reel, 
The  forked  lightning  breaks  the  cloud : 

Deep  torrents  drench  the  swimming  plain, 

And  sheets  of  fire  descend  with  rain. 

°Tis  God  who  on  the  tempest  rides, 
And  with  a  word  directs  the  storms ; 

'Tis  at  his  nod  the  wind  subsides, 
Or  heaps  of  heavy  vapours  form. 

In  fire  and  cloud  he  walks  the  sky, 

And  lets  his  stores  of  tempest  fly. 

Then  why  with  childish  terror  fear; 

What  waits  his  will  to  do  me  harm  1 
'The  bolt  shall  never  venture  near, 

Or  give  me  cause  for  dire  alarm, 
If  he  directs  the  fiery  ball, 
And  bid  it  not  on  me  to  fall. 


16  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

Yet  though  beneath  his  power  divine, 

I  wait,  depending  on  his  care, 
Each  right  endeavour  shall  be  mine, 

Of  ev'ry  danger  I'll  beware; 
Far  from  the  metal  bell-wire  stand, 
Nor  on  the  door-lock  put  my  hand. 

When  caught  amidst  the  open  field, 
I'll  not  seek  shelter  from  a  tree ;      ^ 

Though  from  the  falling  rain  a  shield, 
More  dreadful  might  the  lightning  be; 

Its  tallest  boughs  might  draw  the  fire, 

And  I,  with  sudden  stroke,  empire. 

Thus  while  with  lawful  care  I  try, 

To  shun  each  dangerous  thing  and  place, 

I'll  lift  to  God  and  pray'rful  eye, 
And  beg  protection  from  his  grace : 

If  spar'd  to  him  the  praise  I'll  give, 

Or  if  I  die,  in  heaven  shall  live.  Idem 


THE  CHURCH-YARD. 

THE  moon  rises  bright  in  the  east, 

The  stars  with  pure  brilliancy  shine  ; 
The  songs  of  the  woodlands  have  ceas'd, 

And  still  is  the  low  of  the  kine. 
The  men,  from  their  work  on  the  hill, 

Trudge  homeward,  with  pitchfork  and  flail 
The  buz  of  the  helmet  is  still, 

And  the  bat  flaps  his  wings  in  the  gale. 

And  see  from  those  darkly  green  trees ; 

Of  cypress,  and  holly,  and  yew, 
That  wave  their  black  arms  in  the  breeze, 

The  old  village  church  is  in  view, 
The  owl  from  her  ivy'd  retreat, 

Screams  hoarse  to  the  winds  of  the  night ; 
And  the  clock,  with  its  solemn  repeat, 

Has  toll'd  the  departure  of  light. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  £ 

child,  let  us  wander  alone, 
When  half  the  wide  world  is  in  bed, 
And  read  o'er  the  mouldering  stone, 
That  tells  of  the  mouldering  dead  ; 
And  let  us  remember  it  well, 

That  we  must  as  certainly  die, 
'For  us  too  may  toll  the  sad  bell, 
.     And  in  the  cold  earth  we  must  lie. 

You  are  not  so  healthy  and  gay, 

So  young,  and  so  active,  and  bright, 
That  death  cartnot  snatch  you  away, 

Or  some  dreadful  accident  smite. 
Here  lie  both  the  young  and  the  old, 

Confm'd  in  the  coffin  so  small, 
And  the  earth  closes  over  them  cold, 

And  the  grave-worm  devours  them  all. 

In  vain  were  the  beauty  and  bloom, 

That  once  o'er  their  bodies  were  spread^; 
Now  still,  in  the  desolate  tomb, 

Each  rest  his  inanimate  head. 
Their  hands,  once  so  active  for  play, 

Their  lips,  which  so  merrily  sung, 
Now  senseless  and  motionless  lay, 

And  stiff  is  the  chattering  tongue. 

Then  seek  not,  my  child,  as  the  best, 

Those  things  which  so  shortly  must  fade; 
Let  piety  dwell  in  thy  breast, 

And  all  of  thine  actions  pervade. 
And  then  when  beneath  the  green  sod, 

This  active  young  body  shall  lie,  » 
Thy  soul  shall  ascend  to  its  God,    • 

To  live  with  .the  blest  in  the  sky.  Idem, 

MORNING, 

AWAKE,  little  girl,  it  is  time  to  arise, 

Come  shake  drowsy  sleep  from  your  eye; 


ORIGINAL    POE.AiS. 


lark  is  loud  warbling  his  notes  in  the  skies, 
And  the  sun  is  far  mounted  on  high. 

O  come,  for  the  fields  with  gay  flow'rs  overflow,; 

The  dew-drop  is  trembling  still, 
The  lowing  herds  gaze  in  the  pasture  below, 

And  the  sheep-bell  is  heard  from  the  hill. 

O  come,  for  the  bee  has  flown  out  of  his  bed, 

To  begin  his  day's  labours  anew  ; 
The  spider  is  weaving  her  delicate  thread, 

Which  brilliantly  glitters  with  dew. 

O  come,  for  the  ant  has  crept  out  of  her  cell, 

Her  daily  employment  to  seek  ; 
She  knows  the  true  value  of  moments  too  well, 

To  waste  them  in  indolent  sleep. 

Awake,  little  sleeper,  and  do  not  despise 

Of  insects  instruction  to  ask, 
From  your  pillow  with  good  resolutions  arise, 

And  cheerfully  go  to  your  task.  J.  T 


EVENING. 

LITTLE  girl,  it  is  time  to  retire  to  rest, 

The  sheep  are  put  into  the  fold, 
The  linnet  forsakes  us  and  flies  to  her  nest, 

To  shelter  her  young  from  the  cold. 

The  owl  has  flown  out  from  his  lonely  retreat, 
And  screams  through  the  tall  shady  trees  ; 

The  nightingale  takes  on  the  hawthorn  her  seat, 
And  sings  to  the  evening  breeze. 

The  sun,  too,  now  seems  to  have  fmish'd  his  race> 

And  sinks  once  again  to  his  rest ; 
But  though  we  no  longer  can  see  his  bright  face, 

He  leaves  a  gold  streak  in  the  west. 

Little  girl  have  you  finish'd  your  daily  employs 
With  industry,  patience  and  care  1 


ORIGINAL    POEMK  19 

If  so,  lay  your  head  on  your  pillow  with  joy, 
No  thorn  to  disturb  shall  be  there. 

The  moon  through  your  curtains  shall  cheerfully  peep, 
Her  silver  beam  dance  on  your  eyes  ; 

And  mild  ev'ning  breezes  shall  fan  you  to  sleep, 
Till  the  bright  morn  bid  you  arise.  J.  T> 


THE  IDLE  BOY. 

THOMAS  was  an  idle  lad, 

And  loung'd  about  all  day  ; 
And  though  he  many  a  lesson  had, 

He  minded  nought  but  play. 

He  only  car'd  for  top  or  ball, 
Or  marbles,  hoop,  and  kite ; 

But  as  for  learning,  that  was  all 
Neglected  by  him  quite. 

In  vain  his  mother's  kind  advice, 

In  vain  his  master's  care : 
He  follow'd  every  idle  vice, 

And  learnt  to  curse  and  swear ! 

And  think  you,  when  he  grew  a  mar.) 

He  prosper'd  in  his  ways  1 
No :  wicked  courses  never  can 

Bring  good  and  happy  days. 

Without  a  shilling  in  his  purse, 

Or  cot  to  call  his  own, 
Poor  Thomas  grew  from  bad  to  worse) 

And  harden'd  as  a  stone. 

And  oh  !  it  grieves  me  much  to  write 

His  melancholy  end ; 
Then  let  us  leave  the  dreadful  sight, 

And  thoughts  of  pity  send, 
2 


ORIGINAL    POEMfi. 


But  may  we  this  important  truth 

Observe  and  ever  hold, 
"  All  those  who're  idle  in  their  youth, 

Will  suffer  when'  they're  old."  J.  T. 


THE  INDUSTRIOUS  BOY. 

IN  a  cottage  upon  the  heath  wild, 
That  always  was  cleanly  and  nice^ 

Liv'd  William,  a  good  little  child, 
Who  minded  his  parent's  advice. 

^Tis  true  he  lov'd  marbles  and  kite, 
And  spin-top,  and  nine-pins,  and  ball, 

But  this  I  declare  with  delight, 
His  book  he  lov'd  better  than  all. 

In  active  and  useful  employ 
His  youth  gaily  glided  away  ; 

While  rational  pleasure  and  joy 
Attended  his  steps  ev'ry  day. 

And  now  let  us  see  him  grown  up; 
,    Still  cheerfulness  dwelt  in  his  mind, 
Contentment  yet  sweetened  his  cup, 
For  active  he  still  was  and  kind. 

His  wife  for  gay  riches  ne'er  sigh'd, 

No  princess  so  happy  as  she ; 
While  William  would  sit  by  her  side-, 

With  a  sweet  smiling  babe  on  his  knee, 

His  garden  well  loaded  with  store, 
His  cot  by  the  side  of  the  green, 

Where  woodbines  crept  over  the  door, 
And  jessamines  peep'd  in  between. 

These  fill'd  him  with  honest  delight, 
And  rewarded  him  well  for  his  toil; 

He  went  to  bed  cheerful  at  night; 
And  woke  in  the  morn  with  a  smile. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  21 

t 

Nor  knew  he  the  feelings  of  dread, 
When  infirmity  brought  him  to  die  ; 

While  his  grandchildren  knelt  round  his  bed, 
And  his  dutiful  sons  clos'd  his  eye. 

O  then  may  I  diligent  be, 

And  as  active  as  ever  I  can, 
That  I  may  be  happy  and  free, 

Like  him  when  I  grow  up  a  man  !  J.  T. 


THE  LITTLE  FISHERMAN. 

THERE  was  a  little  fellow  once, 
And  Harry  was  his  name, 

And  many  a  naughty  trick  had  he ; 
I  tell  it  to  his  shame. 

He  minded  not  his  friends  advice, 
But  followed  his  own  wishes; 

And  one  most  cruel  trick  of  his 
Was  that  of  catching  fishes. 

His  father  had  a  little  pond, 
Where  often  Harry  went, 

And  in  this  most  inhuman  sport, 
He  many  an  evening  spent. 

One  day  he  took  his  hook  and  bait, 
And  hurried  to  the  pond, 

And  there  began  the  cruel  game, 
Of  which  he  was  so  fond. 

And  many  a  little  fish  he  caught, 
And  pleas'd  was  he  to  look, 

To  see  them  writhe  in  agony, 
And  struggle  on  the  hook. 

At  last  when  having  caught  enough, 

And  tired  too  himself, 
He  hastened  home,  intending  there 

To  put  them  on  a  shelf. 


22  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

But  as  he  jump'd  to  reach  a  dish 

T^o  put  his  fishes  in, 
A  sharp  meat-hook,  that  hung  close  by, 

Did  catch  him  by  the  chin. 

Poor  Harry  kick'd  and  call'd  aloud, 
And  scream'd  and  cry'd  and  roar'd, 

While  from  his  wound  the  crimson  blood 
In  dreadful  torrents  pour'd. 

The  maids  came  running,  frighten'd  much 

To  see  him  hanging  there, 
And  soon  they  took  him  from  the  hook, 

And  sat  him  in  a  chair. 

The  surgeon  came  and  stopp'd  the  blood, 

And  up  he  bound  his  head ; 
And  then  they  carry'd  him  up  stairs, 

And  laid  him  on  his  bed. 

Conviction  darted  on  his  mind, 

As  groaning  there  he  lay ; 
He  with  remorse  and  horror  thought 

Upon  his  cruel  play. 

"And  oh,", said  he,  " poor  little  fish, 
What  tortures  they  have  borne  ! 

While  I,  well  pleas'd,  have  stood  to  see 
Their  tender  bodies  torn ! 

*'  O  what  a  wicked  boy  I've  been, 

Such  torments  to  bestow ; 
Well  I  deserve  the  pain  I  feel, 

Since  I  could  serve  them  so. 

"  But  now  I  know  how  great  the  smart, 

How  terrible  the  pain ! 
As  long  as  I  can  feel  myself 

I'll  never  fish  again. 


THE  LITTLE  FISHERMAN, 


But  as  he  jump'd  to  reach  a  dish 

To  put  his  fishes  in, 
A  sharp  meat-hook,  that  hung  close  by 

Pid  catch  him  by  the  chin. 


See  page  %& 


I 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  23 

OLD  AGE. 

WHO  is  this  that  comes  tott'ring  along? 

His  footsteps  are  feeble  and  slow, 
His  beard  is  grown  curling  and  long, 

And  his  head  is  turned  white  as  the  snow. 

His  dim  eye  is  sunk  in  his  head, 

And  wrinkles  deep  furrow  his  brow  ; 

Animation  and  vigour  are  fled, 
And  yield  to  infirmity  now. 

Little  stranger,  his  name  is  old  age, 

His  journey  will  shortly  be  o'er, 
He  soon  will  leave  life's  busy  stage, 

To  be  torn  by  affliction  no  more. 

Little  stranger,  though  healthy  and  strong, 

You  now  all  adversity  brave, 
Like  him  you  must  totter  ere  long, 

Like  him  you  must  sink  to  the  grave. 

Those  limbs  that  so  actively  play, 

That  face,  beaming  pleasure  and  mirth, 

Like  his  must  drop  into  decay, 
And  moulder  away  in  the  earth. 

Then  ere  that  dark  season  of  night, 
When  youth  and  its  energies  cease, 

O  !  follow,  with  zeal  and  delight, 

Those  paths  that  are  pleasure  and  peace. 

So  triumph  and  hope  shall  be  nigh, 

When  failing  and  fainting  your  breath  ; 

'Twill  light  a  bright  spark  in  your  eye, 
As  it  closes  for  ever  in  death. 


THE  APPLE  TREE. 

OLU  John  had  an  apple  tree,  healthy  and  green, 
Which  bore  the  best  codlins  that  ever  were  seen, 


24  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

So  juicy,  so  mellow,  and  red ; 
And  when  they  were  ripe,  as  old  Johnny  was  poor, 
He  sold  them  to  children  that  passed  by  his  door, 

To  buy  him  a  morsel  of  bread. 

Little  Dick,  his  next  neighbour,  one  often  might  see, 
With  longing  eyes  viewing  this  nice  apple  tree, 

And  wishing  a  codlin  would  fall. 
One  day  as  he  stood  in  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
He  began  thinking  whether  he  might  not  take  one, 

And  then  he  looked  over  the  wall. 

And  as  he  again  cast  his  eye  on  the  tree, 

He  said  to  himself,  "O  how  nice  they  would  be, 

So  cool  and  refreshing  to  day ! 
The  tree  is  so  full,  and  I'd  only  take  one, 
And  old  John  won't  see,  for  he  is  not  at  home, 

And  nobody  is  in  the  way." 

But  stop,  little  boy,  take  your  hand  from  the  bough, 
Remember,  though  old  John  can't  see  you  just  now, 

And  no  one  to  chide  you  is  nigh, 
There  is  ONE,  who  by  night,  just  as  well  as  by  day, 
Can  see  all  you  do,  and  can  hear  all  you  say, 

From  his  glorious  throne  in  the  sky. 

Oh  then,  little  boy,  come  away  from  the  tree, 
Content,  hot  or  weary,  or  thirsty  to  be, 

Or  any  thing  rather  than  steal ; 
For  the  great  God,  who  even  through  darkness  can 

look, 
Writes  down  every  crime  we  commit  in  his  book, 

However  we  think  to  conceal.  J.  T. 

THE  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

IN  tears  to  her  mother  poor  Harriet  came, 

Let  us  listen  to  hear  what  she  says ; 
"  Oh  see,  dear  mamma,  it  is  pouring  with  rain, 

We  cannot  go  out  in  the  chaise. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  25 

"All  the  week  have  I  longed  for  the  journey  you 
know, 

And  fancy'd  the  minutes  were  hours, 
And  now  that  I'm  dress'd,  and  all  ready  to  go, 

O  see,  dear  mamma,  how  it  pours." 

I'm  sorry,  my  dear,  her  good  mother  replied, 

The  rain  won't  permit  us  to  go  ; 
And  I'm  sorry  to  see  for  the  sake  of  a  ride, 

That  you  cry  and  distress  yourself  so. 

These  slight  disappointments  and  crosses  you  hate, 

Are  sent  you  your  mind  to  prepare; 
That  you  may  with  courage  and  fortitude  wait 

More  serious  distresses  to  bear. 

O  think  not,  my  child,  as  you  grow  up  in  life, 

That  pleasures  unceasing  will  flow ; 
Disappointment,  and  trouble,  and  sorrow,  and.  strife, 

Will  follow  wherever  you  go. 

Though  now  the  bright  prospect  seems  opening  fair, 

And  hope  paints  a  scene  of  delight, 
Too  soon  you  will  see  it  all  vanish  in  air, 

And  leave  you  to  darkness  and  night. 

Ah,  then,  my  dear  girl,  when  those-  sorrows  appear, 

And  troubles  flow  in  like  a  tide, 
You'll  wonder  that  ever  you  wasted  a  tear 

On  merely  the  loss  of  a  ride. 

But  though  this  world's  pleasures  are  fading  and  vain, 

Religion  is  lasting  and  true ; 
Real  pleasure  and  joy  in  her  paths  you  may  gain, 

Nor  will  disappointment  ensue.  J.  T. 

THE  SHEPHERD  BOY. 

Upon  a  mountain's  grassy  side 

Where  many  a  tall  fir  grew, 
Young  Colin  wandered  with  his  flocks, 

And  many  a  hardship  knew. 


26  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

No  downy  pillow  for  his  head, 

No  sheltered  home  had  he, 
The  green  grass  was  his  only  bed, 

Beneath  some  shady  tree. 

Dry  bread  and  water  from  the  spring, 
Composed  his  temperate  fare ; 

Yet  Colin  ate  with  thankful  heart, 
Nor  felt  a  murmur  there. 

A  cheerful  smile  upon  his  face 

Was  ever  seen  to  play, 
He  envied  not  the  rich  nor  great; 

More  happy  far  than  they. 

While  'neath  some  spreading  shade  he  sat, 

Beside  his  fleecy  flocks, 
His  soft  pipe  warbled  through  the  wood, 

And  echoed  from  the  rocks. 

An  ancient  castle  on  the  plain, 

In  silent  grandeur  stood, 
And  there  the  young  lord  Henry  dwelt 

The  proud,  but  not  the  good. 

And  oft  he  wandered  o'er  the  plain, 

Or  on  the  mountain's  side, 
And  with  surprise  and  envy  too 

The  humble  Colin  eyed. 

"And  why,"  said  he,  "am  I  denied 

That  cheefulness  and  joy 
That  ever  smiles  upon  the  face 

Of  this  poor  shepherd  boy ! 

"  Nor  titles,  honours,  or  estates, 

Or  wealth  or  power,  has  he; 
And  yet,  though  destitute  and  poor, 

He  seems  more  blest  than  me." 

For  this  lord  Henry  did  not  know — 
That  pleasure  ne'er  is  found 


THE  SHEPHARD  BOY. 


Colin  though  poor,  was  humble  loo, 

Benevolent  and  kind  : 
While  passion,  anger,  rage,  and  pride, 

Disturbed  lord  Henry's  mind. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  Z( 

Where  angry  passions  reign  and  rule. 

And  evil  deeds  abound. 
Colin  though  j)oor,  was  humble  too, 

Benevolent  and  kind : 
While  passion,  anger,  rage,  and  pride, 

Disturbed  lord  Henry's  mind. 
Thus  Colin,  though  a  shepherd  boy, 

Was  ever  glad  and  gay; 
And  Henry,  though  a  noble  lord, 

To  discontent  a  prey.  J.  T. 

THE  ROBIN. 

Away,  pretty  Robin,  fly  home  to  your  nest, 
To  make  you  my  captive  I  still  should  like  best, 

And  feed  you  with  worms  and  with  bread : 
Your  eyes  are  so  sparkling,  your  feathers  so  soil, 
Your  little  wings  flutter  so  pretty  aloft, 

And  your  breast  is  all  coloured  with  red. 

But  then  'twould  be  cruel  to  keep  you,  I  know, 
So  stretch  out  your  wings  little  Robin,  and  go, 

Fly  home  to   your  young  ones  again; 
Go  listen  again  to  the  notes  of  your  mate, 
And  enjoy  the  green  shade  in  your  lonely  retreat, 

Secure  from  the  wind  and  the  rain. 

But  when  the  leaves  fall,  and  the  winter  winds  blow> 
And  the  green  fields  are  covered  all  over  with  snow, 

And  the  clouds  in  white  feathers  descend  ; 
When  the  springs  are  all  ice,  and  the  rivulets  freeze, 
And  the  long  shining  icicles  drop  from  the  frees, 

Then,  Robin,  remember  your  friend. 

When  with  cold  and  with  hunger  quite  perished  and 

weak, 
Come  tap  at  my  window  again  with  your  beak, 

And  gladly  I'll  let  you  come  in ; 
You  shall  fly  to  my  bosom,  or  perch  on  my  thumbs 
Or  hop  round  the  table  and  pick  up  the  crumbs, 

And  never  be  hungry  agaiiis  J.  T. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

JAMES  AND  THE  SHOULDER  OF  MUTTON, 

YOUNG  Jem  at  noon  return'd  from  school, 
'    As  hungry  as  could  be, 
He  cried  to  Sue,  the  servant  maid, 
My  dinner  give  to  me. 

Said  Sue  it  is  not  yet  come  home, 

Besides  it  is  not  late ; 
No  matter  that,  cries  little  Jem, 

I  do  not  like  to  wait. 

Quick  to  the  baker's  Jemmy  went, 

And  ask'd,  "  Is  dinner  done  1" 
"  It  is,"  replied  the  baker's  man. — 

"Then  home  I'll  with  it  run." 

«  Nay,  sir,"  reply'd  he  prudently, 

"  I  tell  you  'tis  too  hot ; 
•    *  And  much  too  heavy  'tis  for  you." — 
"  I  tell  you  it  is  not." 

"  papa,  mama,  are  both  gone  out, 

And  I  for  dinner  long ; 
So  give  it  me :  it  is  all  mine, 

And  baker'  hold  your  tongue. 

"  A  shoulder  'tis  ofmutten  nice! 

And  batter  pudding  too ; 
I'm  glad  of  that,  it  is  so  good : 

How  clever  is  our  Sue !" 

Now  near  his  door  young  Jem  was  come, 

He  round  the  corner  turn'd ; 
But  O,  sad  fate !  unlucky  chance ! 

The  dish  his  fingers  burn'd, 

-Low  in  the  kennel  down  fell  dish, 

And  down  fell  all  the  meat ; 
Swift  went  the  pudding  in  the  stream, 

And  sailed  down  the  street. 

The  people  laugh'd,  and  rude  boys  grinn'd, 
At  mutton's  hapless  fall ; 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  £$ 

But  though  asham'd,  young-  Jemmy  cried, 
"Better  lose  part  than  all." 

The  shoulder  by  the  knuckel  seiz'd, 

His  hands  both  grasp'd  it  fast, 
And,  deaf  to  all  their  jibes  and  cries, 

He  gain'd  his  house  at  last. 

"  Impatience  is  a  fault,"  says  Jem, 

"  The  baker  said  too  true  ; 
Tn  future  I  will  patient  be, 

And  mind  what  says  our  Sue,"         Andelade* 

FALSE   ALARMS. 
LITTLE  Mary  one  day  most  loudly  did  call — 

"  Mamma  !  O  mamma,  pray  come  here  ! 
A  fall  I  have  had — oh,  a  very  sad  fall." 

Mamma  ran  in  haste  and  in  fear  ; 
Then  Mary  jump't  up,  and  she  laugh'd  in  great  glee, 

And  cried  "Why,  how  fast  you  can  run ! 
No  harm  has  befalPn,  I  assure  you  to  me ; 

My  screaming  was  only  in  fun." 

Her  mother  was  busy  at  work  the  next  day, 

She  heard  from  without  a  loud  cry ; 
"  The  big  dog  has  got  me  !  O  help  me  !  O  pray  ? 

He  tears  me — he  bites  me — I  die !" 
Mamma,  all  in  terror,  quick  to  the  court  flew, 

And  there  little  Mary  she  found  : 
Who'  laughing,  said,  "  Madam,  pray  how  do  you  do '." 

And  curt'sied  quite  down  to  the  ground. 

That  night  little  Mary,  when  long  gone  to  bed, 
Shrill  cries,  and  loud  shriekings  were  heard  ; 
"  I'm  on  fire,  O  mamma  !  come  up,  or  I'm  dead  !" 

Marnma  she  believed  not  a  word. 
Sleep,  sleep,  naughty  child,  she  called  out  from  below* 
.  How  often  have  I  been  deceived  ! 
You're  telling  a  story  you  very  well  know  ; 
Go  to  sleep,  for  you  can't  be  believed. 
'3* 


30  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

Yet  still  the  child  screamed — now  the  house  filPd  with 
smoke  ; 

That  fire  is  above  Jane  declares  ;        , 
Alas  Mary's  words  they  soon  found  were  no  joke, 

When  every  one  hastened  up  stairs. 
All  burnt  and  all  seamed  was  her  once  pretty  face, 

And  terribly  marked  are  her  arms, 
Her  features  all  scarred,  leave  a  lasting  disgrace, 

For  giving  mamma  false  alarms.  Idem. 

THE  CHILD'S  MONITOR. 

The  wind  blows  down  the  largest  tree, 
And  yet  the  wind  I  cannot  see. — 
Playmates  far  of,  that  have  been  kind, 
My  thought  can  bring  before  my  mind, 
The  past  by  it  is  present  brought, 
And  yet  I.  cannot  see  my  thought. 

•  The  charming  rose  perfumes  the  air, 
Yet  I  can  see  no  perfumes  there. 
Blithe  Robin's  notes — how  sweet,  how  clear  ! 
From  his  small  bill  they  reach  my  ear  : 
And  whilst  upon  the  air  they  float. 
I  hear,  yet  cannot  see  a  note. 

When  I  would  do  what  is  forbid, 
By  something  in  my  heart  I'm  chid  ; 
When  good  I  think,  then  quick  and  pat, 
That  something  says,  "  My  child  do  that." 

When  I  too  near  the  stream  would  go,  ^ 

So  pleased  to  see  the  waters  flow, 
That  something  says,  without  a  sourid, 
"  Take  care,  dear  child,  you  may  be  drown'J;'5 
And  for  the  poor  whene'er  I  grieve, 
That  something  says, "  A  penny  give." 
Thus  spirits  good  and  ill  there  be, 
•   Although  invisible  to  me  ; 
Whate'er  I  do,  they  see  me  still, 
But  O,  good  spirits,  guide  my  will !  Idem,  • 


ORIGIN  AT,  POINTS. 

THE  BUTTERFLY. 

The  butterfly,  an  idle  thing, 

Nor  honey  makes,  nor  yet  can  sing, 

Like  to  the  bee  and  bird  ; 
Nor  does  it,  like  the  prudent  ant, 
Lay  up  the  grain  for  times  of  want, 

A  wise  and  cautious  hoard. 

My  youth  is  but  a  summer's  day, 
Then  like  the  bee  and  ant,  I'll  lay 

A  store  of  learning  by  ; 
And  though  from  flower  to  flower  I  rove,     % 
My  stock  of  wisdom  I'll  improve, 

Nor  be  a  butterfly.  Idem. 

THE  BOYS  AND  THE  APPLE  TREE. 

As  Billy  and  Tommy  were  walking  one  day, 

They  came  by  a  fine  orchard  side  ; 
They'd  rather  eat  apples  than  spell,  read  or  play, 

And  Tommy  to  Billy  then  cried — 

Oh  brother  look !  see !  what  fine  clusters  hang  there, 

I'll  jump  and  climb  over  the  wall ; 
I  will  have  an  apple,  I  will  have  a  pear, 

Or  else  it  shall  cost  me  a  fal!. 

Said  Billy  to  Tommy,  to  steal  is  a  sin, 

Mamma  has  oft  told  this  to  tliee  ; 
I  never  yet  stole,  nor  now  will  begin  ; 

So  red  apples  hang  on  the  tree. 

You  are  a  good  boy,  as  you  ever  have  been, 

Said  Tommy  ;  let's  walk  on  my  lad  ! 
We'll  call  on  our  school-fellow,  little  Bob  Green, 

And  to  see  us  I  know  he'll  be  glad. 

The}"  came  to  a  house,  ancftheyjrang  at  the  gate, 
And  asked  "  Pray  is  Bobby  at  home  '!" 

But  Bobby's  good  manners  did  not  let  them  wait ; 
He  out  of  the  parlour  did  come. 


S2  ORIGINAL    POEM?. 

Bob  smiled  and  laughed,  hnd  he  capered  with  joy* 

His  little  companions  to  view — 
We  called  in  to  see  you  said  each  little  boy ; 

Said  Bobby,  I'm  glad  to  see  you. 

Come  walk  in  our  garden,  so  large  and  so  fine  ; 

You  shall,  for  my  father  gives  leave ; 
And  more,  he  insists  that  you'll  stay  here  to  dine  ; 

A  rare  jolly  day  we  shall  have  ! 

But  when  in  the  garden,  they  found  'twas  the  same ; 

They  saw  as  they  walked  in  the  road ; 
And  near  the  high  wall,  when  these  little  boys  came, 

They  started  as  if  from  a  toad. 

That  large  ring  of  iron,  which  lies  on  the  ground, 

With  terrible  teeth  like  a  saw, 
Said  Bobby,  the  guard  of  our  garden  is  found  ; 

It  keeps  wicked  robbers  in  awe. 

The  warning  without,  if  they  should  set  at  nought, 

This  trap  tears  their  legs — O  so  sad  ! 
Said  Billy  to  Tommy,  so  you'd  have  been  caught, 

A  narrow  escape  you  have  had. 

Cried  Tommy,  I'll  mind  what  my  good  mamma  sa)^s, 

And  take  the  advice  of  a.  friend  ; 
I  never  will  steal  to  the  end  of  my  days  ; 

I've  been  a  bad  boy,  but  I'll  mend.  Idem. 


THE  WOODEN  DOLL,  AND  THE  WAX  DOLL. 

THERE  were  two  friends,  a  charming  little  pair ; 
Brunette  the  Brown  "and  Blanchidine  the  fair ; 
This  child  to  love  Brunette  did  still  incline. 
And  much  Brunette  loved  sweet  Blanchidine. 
Brunette  in  dress  was  neat  yet  wondrous  plain, 
But  Blanchidine  of  finery  was  vain. 

Now  Blanchidine  a  new  acquaintance  made, 
A  little  miss,  most  splendidly  arrayed  ; 
Feathers  and  laces  beauteous  to  behold, 
And  Indian  frock,  with  spots  of  shining  gold.— 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

Said  Blanchidine,  a  miss  so  richly  dressed, 
Most  sure  deserves  by  all  to  be  caressed ; 
'To  play  with  me  if  she  will  condescend, 
Henceforward  she  shall  be  my  only  friend. 
'For  this  new  miss,  so  dressed  and  so  adorned, 
Her  poor  Brunette  was  slighted,  left,  and  scorned. 

Of  Blanchidine's  vast  stock  of  pretty  toys, 
A  wooden  doll  her  every  thought  employs ; 
Its  neck  so  white,  so  smooth,  its  cheeks  so  red, 
•She'd  kiss,  she'd  hug,  she'd  take  it  to  her  bed. 

Mamma  now  brought  her  home  a  doll  of  flax. 
Its  hair  in  ringlets  white  and  soft  as  wax — 
Its  eyes  could  open,  and  its  eyes  could  shut, 
And  on  it  with  much  taste  its  clothes  were  put. 
My  dear  wax  doll!  sweet  Blanchidine  would  cry: 
Her  doll  of  wood  was  thrown  neglected  by. 

One  summer's  day,  'twas  in  the  month  of  June, 
'The  sun  blazed  out  in  all  the  heat  of  noon ; 
My  waxen  doll,  she  cried,  my  dear,  my  charm! 
Tou  feel  quite  cool ;  but  you  shall  soon  be  warm. 
She  placed  it  in  the  sun, — misfortune  dire ! 
The  wax  run  down  as  if  before  the  fire. 
Each  beauteous  feature  quickly  disappeared, 
And  melting,  left  a  blank  all  soiled  and  smeared.- 
She  stared,  she  screamed  with  horror  and  dismay. 
You  odious  fright !  she  then  was  heard  to  say — 
For  you  my  silly  heart  I  have  estranged, 
From  my  sweet  wooden  doll  that  never  changed, 
Just  so  may  change  my  "new  acquaintance  fine, 
For  whom  I  left  Brunette,  that  friend  of  mine. 
No  more  by  outside  show  will  I  be  lured, 
Of  such  capricious  whims  I  think  I'm  cured ; 
To  plain  old  friends  my  heart  shall  still  be  true, 
Nor  change  for  ev'ry  face  because  'tis  new. 
Her  slighted  wooden  tfoll  resumed  its  charms, 
.And  wronged  Brunette  she  clasped  within  her  arms. 

Idem, 


34  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 


THE  RED  BREAST. 

The  Thrush  sings  nobly  on  the  tree, 
In  strength  of  voice  excelling  me, 

Whilst  leaves  and  fruits  are  on ; 
Think  how  poor  Robin  sings  for  you, 
When  nature's  beauties  bid  xidiue, 

And  leaves  and  fruits  are  gone. 
Ah,  then  to  me  some  crumbs  of  bread,  O  fling ! 
And  through  the  year  my  grateful  thanks  I'll  sing, 
W'hen  winter's  winds  blow  loud  and  rude, 
And  birds  retire  in  sullen  mood, 

And  snows  make  white  the  ground ; 
I  sing,  your  drooping  hearts  to  charm, 
And  sure  that  you'll  not  do  me  harm, 

I  hop  your  window  round. 
Ah,  then  to  me  some  crumbs  of  bread,  O  fling, 
And  through  the  year  my  grateful  thanks  I'll  sing, 
•^ince,  fiiond;3,  in  you  I  put  my  trust, 
As  you  enjoy  you  should  be  just, 

A'vl  'or  your  music  pay; 
And  \vi)on  t.  find  a  traveller  dead, 
My  bill  with  leaves  the  corpse  shall  spread, 

And  sing  his  passing  lay. 

Ah,  then,  to  me  some  crumbs  of  bread,  O  fling, 
And  through  the  year  my  grateful  thanks  I'll  sing. 

Idem, 


IDLE  DICKY  AND  THE  GOAT. 

JOHN  BRO^VN  is  a  man  without  houses  or  lands, 
Himself  he  supports  by  the  work  of  his  hands; 
He  brings  home  his  wages  each  Saturday  night, 
To  his  wife  and  his  children  a  very  good  sight. 

His  eldest  boy  Dicky,  on  errands  when  sent, 
To  loiter  and  chatter  was  ..very  much  bent; 
The  neighbours  all  called  him  an  odd  little  trout 
His  shoes  they  were  broke,  and  his  toes  they  peeped 
out 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  OO 

To  see  such  old  shoes  all  their  sorrows  were  rife  ; 
John  Brown  he  much  grieved,  and  so  did  his  wife. 
He  kissed  his  boy  Dicky,  and  stroked  his  white 

head — 

You  shall  have  a  new  pair  my  dear  boy  then  he  said ; 
I've  here  twenty  shillings,  and  money  has  wings  ; 
Go  first  get  this  note  changed,  I  want  other  things. 

Now  here  comes  the  mischief; — this  Dicky  would  stop 
At  an  ill  looking,  mean  looking,  green  grocer's  shop ; 
For  here  Jived  a  chattering  dunce  of  a  boy  ; 
To  prate  with  this  urchin  gave  Dicky  great  joy. 

And  now  in  his  boasting  he  shows  him  the  note, 
And  now  to  the  green  stall  up  marches  a  goat ; 
They  laughed,  for  it  was  this  young  nanny-goat's 

way, 
With  those  who  passed  by  her  to  gambol  and  play. 

All  three  they  went  intc  the  frolicksome  bouts, 
Till  Dick  dropped  the  note  on  a  bunch  of  green  sprouts ; 
Now  what  was  Dick's  wonder!  to  see  the  vile  goat, 
In  munching  the  green  sprouts,  eat  up  his  bank  note. 
He  crying  ran  back  to  John  Brown  with  the  news : 
By  stopping  to  idle  he  lost  his  new  shoes,  Idem. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE. 

THY  plaintive  notes,  sweet  Philomel, 
All  other  melodies  excel ! 

Deep  in  the  grove  retired, 
Thou  seem'st  thyself  and  song  to  hide, 
Nor  dost  thou  boast,  or  plume  with  pride, 

Nor  wish  to  be  admired. 

So  if  endued  with  power  and  grace, 
And  with  that  power  my  will  keep  pace, 

To  act  a  gen'rous  part ; 
Hence — paltry  ostentatious  show  ! 
Nor  let  my  lib'ral  action  know, 

A  witness  but  my  heart.  Idem' 


36  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

NEVER  PLAY  WITH  FIRE. 

MY  prayers  I  said,  I  went  to  bed 

And  soon  I  fell  asleep ; 
But  soon  I  woke,  my  sleep  was  broke :, 

I  through  my  curtains  peep. 

I  heard  a  noise  of  men  and  boys, 

The  watchman's  rattle  too  ; 
And  fire  they  cry — and  then  cried  I, 

O  dear,  what  shall  I  do  1 

A  shout  aloud  came  from  the  crowd, 
,     Around,  above,  below ; 
And  in  the  street  the  neighbours  meet, 
Who  would  the  matter  know. 

Now  down  the  stairs  run  threes  and  pairsr 

Enough  to  break  their  bones, 
The  firemen  swear,  the  engines  tear, 

And  thunder  o'er  the  stones, 

The  roof  and  wall,  and  stairs  and  all, 

And  rafters  tumble  in, 
Red  flames  and  blaze,  now  all  amaze, 

And  make  a  dreadful  din  ! 

And  horrid  screams,  when  bricks  and  beams 

Came  tumbling  on  their  heads  ; 
And  some  are  smashed,  and  some  are  dashed ; 

Some  leap  on  feather  beds, 

Some  burn,  some  choak,  with  fire  and  smoke  ! 

And  oh,  what  was  the  cause  ? 
My  heart's  dismay'd,  last  night  I  played 

With  Tommy,  lighting  straws  !  Idem.. 


THE  LARK. 

FROM  his  humble  grassy  bed, 
See  the  warbling  lark  arise ! 

By  his  grateful  wishes  led 

Through  those  regions  of  the  skies. 


OniGlNAL 

Song  of  thanks  and  praise  he  pours, 

Harmonizing  airy  space, 
Sings  and  mounts,  and  higher  soars, 

Towards  the  throne  of  heavenly  grace. 

Small  his  gifts  compared  to  mine, 
Poor  my  thanks  with  his  compared; 

I've  a  soul  almost  divine, 

Angels'  blessings  with  me  shared. 

'Wrake  my  soul  !  to  praise  aspire, 

Reason,  every  sense  accord, 
Join  in  pure  seraphic  lire, 

Love,  and  thank,  and  praise  the  Lord !  Idem, 

THE  TRUANT  BOYS. 

THE  month  was  June,  and  the  morning  cool, 

When  Hal  and  Ned, 
To  walk  together  to  the  neighbouring  school, 

Rose  early  from  their  bed. 

When  reach'd  the  school,  Hal  said,  "Why  con  your 
task, 

Demure  and  prim  1 
Ere  we  go\i,  let  me  one  question  ask ; 

Ned,  shall  we  go  and  swim  1° 

Fearless  of  future  punishment  or  blame, 

Away  they  hied, 
Through  many  a  verdant  field,  until  they  came 

Unto  the  river  side. 

The  broad  stream  narrowed  in  its  onward  course, 

And  deep  and  still, 
It  silent  ran,  and  yet  with  rapid  force, 

To  turn  a  neighb'ring  mill. 

Under  the  mill  an  arch  gaped  wide,  and  seemed 

The  jaws  of  death ! 
Through  this  the  smooth  deceitful  water  teemed, 

On  dreadful  wheels  beneath, 
4 


38  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

They  swim  the  river  wide ;  nor  think,  nor  care;, 

The  waters  flow ; 
And  by  the  current  strong  they  carried  are 

Into  the  mill  stream  now. 

Through  the  swift  waters,  as  young  Ned  was  rolled 

The  gulf  when  near, 
On  a  kind  brier  by  chance  he  laid  fast  hold, 

And  stopped  his  dread  career. 

But  luckless  Hal  was  by  the  mill-wheel  torn, 

A  warning  sad  1 
And  the  untimely  death,  all  friends  now  mourn, 

Of  this  poor  truant  lad.  Idem, 


GEORGE  AND  THE  CHIMNEY  SWEEPER. 
His  petticoats  now  George  cast  off, 

For  he  was  four  years  old  ; 
His  trowsers  were  nankeen  so  fine — 

His  buttons  bright  as  gold. 

"  May  I,"  said  little  George,  "go  out, 

My  pretty  cloths  to  show  1 
May  I  papa  1  may  I  mamma  1  " 

The  answer  was — "no,  no. 

Go  run  below,  George  in  the  court, 

But  go  not  in  the  street, 
Lest  naughty  boys  should  play  some  tricks,. 

Or  gypsies  you  should  meet " 

Yet,  though  forbad,  George  went  unseen, 

The  little  boys  to  see, 
And  all  admired  him  when  he  lisped, 

"  Now  who  so  fine  as  me  1" 

But  whilst  he  strutted  to  and  fro, 

So  proud,  as  I've  heard  tell, 
A  sweep  boy  passed,  whom  to  avoid, 

He  slipped  and  down  he  fell. 

The  sooty  lad  was  kind  and  good— 
To  little  George  he  ran, 


ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

He  raised  him  up,  and  kissing  said, 
"Hush,  hush,  my  little  man!" 

He  rubbed  and  wiped  his  clothes  with  care, 

And  hugging  said,  "don't  cry! — 
Go  home,  as  quick  as  you  can  go.! 

Sweet  little  boy,  good  bye." 

Poor  George  looked  down,  and  lo !  his  dress 

Was  blacker  than  before ; 
All  over  soot,  and  mud,  and  dirt, 

He  reached  his  father's  door. 

He  sobbed,  and  wept,  and  looked  ashamed. 

His  fault  he  did  not  hide  ; 
And  since  so  sorry  for  his  fault, 

Mamma,  she  did  n6t  chide. 

That  night  when  he  had  gone  to  bed, 

He  jumped  up  in  his  sleep, 
And  cried  and  sobbed,  and  cried  again — 

"  I  thought  I  saw  the  sweep  !"  Idem. 

SOPHIA'S  FOOL'S-CAP. 

SOPHIA  was  a  little  child, 
Obliging  good,  and  very  mild  ; 
Yet,  lest  of  dress  she  should  be  vain, 
Mamma  still  dress'd  her  well  but  plain.— *- 
Her  parents,  sensible  and  kind, 
Wished  only  to  adorn  her  mind  ; 
No  other  dress  when  good,  had  she, 
But  useful  neat  simplicity. 

Though  seldom,  yet  when  she  was  rude, 
Or  ever  in  a  naughty  mood, 
Her  punishment  was  this  disgrace, 
A  large  fine  cap  adorned  with  lace, 
With  feathers  and  with  ribbons  too ; 
The  work  was  neat,  the  fashion  new ! 
Yet,  as  a  fool's-cap  was  its  name, 
'She  dreaded  much  to  wear  the  same. 


40  ORIGINAL 


A  lady,  fashionably  gay, 

Did  to  mamma  a  visit  pay. 

Sophia  stared,  then  wisp'ring  said, 

"  Why,  dear  mamma,  look  at  her  head 

To  be  so  tall  and  wicked  too, 

The  strangest  thing  I  ever  knew  ; 

What  naughty  tricks,  pray,  has  she  done, 

That  they  have  put  the  fool's-cap  on  1" 


WASHING  AND  DRESSING. 

AH,  why  will  my  dear  little  girl  be  so  cross, 

And  cry,  and  look  sulky,  and  pout? 
To  lose  her  sweet  smile  is  a  terrible  loss, 

1  can't  even  kiss  her  without. 

You  say  you  don't  like  to  be  washed  and  be  drest ; 

But  would  you  be  dirty  and  foul  ? 
Come,  drive  that  long  sob  from  your  dear  little  breast, 

And  clear  your  sweet  face  from  its  scowl. 

If  the  water  is  cold  and  the  comb  hurts  your  head, 

And  the  soap  has  got  into  your  eye, 
Will  the  water  grow  warmer  for  all  that  you've  said  J 

And  what  good  will  it  do  you  to  cry  1 

It  is  not  to  tease  you  and  hurt  you,  my  sweet, 

But  only  from  kindness  arid  care, 
That  I  wash  you,  and  dress  you,  and  make  you  look 
neat, 

And  comb  out  your  tanglesome  hair. 

I  don't  mind  the  trouble,  if  you  would  not  cry, 

But  pay  me  for  all  with  a  kiss ; 
That's  right, — take  the  towel  and  wipe  your  wet  eye,, 

I  thought  you'd  be  good  after  this. — Ann. 


THE  PLUM  CAKE. 

O,  I've  got  a  plum  cake,  and  a  rare  feast  I'll  make, 
I'll  eat  and  I'll  stuff  and  I'll  cram : 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  41 

Morning,  noontime,  and  night,  it  shall  be  my  delight, 
What  a  happy  young  fellow  I  am. 

Thus  said  little  George,  and  beginning  to  gorge, 

With  zeal  to  his  cake  he  applied ; 
While  fingers  and  thumbs  for  the  sweetmeats  and 
plums 

Were  hunting  and  digging  beside. 

But  woful  to  tell,  a  misfortune  befel, 

Which  ruined  this  capital  fun, 
After  eating  his  fill,  he  was  taken  so  ill, 

That  he  trembled  for  what  he  had  done. 

As  he  grew  worse  and  worse,  the  doctor  and  nurse, 

To  cure  his  disorder  -were  sent, 
And  rightly  you'll  think,  he  had  physic  to  drink 

Which  made  him  his  foHy  repent. 

And  while  on  his  bed  he  rolled  his  hot  head, 

Impatient  with  sickness  and  pain, 
He  could  not  but  take  this  reproof  from  his  cake, 

"Don't  be  such  a  glutton  again."— ANN. 

ANOTHER  PLUM  CAKE. 

"0  !  I've  got  a  plum  cake,  and  a  feast  let  us  make, 

Come  school-fellows,  come  at  my  call; 
I  assure  you  'tis  nice,  and  we'll  each  have  a  slice, 

Here's  more  then  enough  for  us  all." 
Thus  cried  little  Jack,  as  he  gave  it  a  smack, 

And  sharpened  his  knife  for  the  job  1 
While  round  him  a  troop  formed  a  clamorous  group, 

And  hailed  him  the  king  of  the  mob. 
With  masterly  strength,  he  cut  through  at  length, 

And  gave  to  each  playmate  a  share ; 
Dick,  William,  and  James,  and  many  more  names, 

Partook  his  benevolent  care, 
^nd  when  it  was  done,  and  they'd  finished  their  fim? 

To  marbles  or  hoop  they  went  back, 


4%  ofuuxAr.   I'ui'.K?: 

And  each  little  boy,  felt  it  always  a  joy, 
To  do  a  good  turn  for  good  Jack. 

In  his  task  and  his  book,  his  best  pleasures  lie  took, 

And  as  he  thus  wisely  tiegan 
Since  he's  been  a  man  grown,  he  has  constantly  shown, 

That  a  good  boy  will  make  a  good  man. — ANN, 

FOR  A  NAUGHTY    LITTLE  GIRL 

My  sweet  little  girl  should  be  cheerful  and  mild,- 

And  should  not  be  fretful  and  cry ! 
Oh,  why  is  this  passion  1  remember,  my  child, 

God  sees  you,  who  lives  in  the  sky. 

That  dear  little  face,  which  I  like  so  to  kiss, 

How  frightful  and  sad  it  appears  ! 
Do  you  think  I  can  love  you,  so  naughty  as  this  : 

Or  kiss  you  all  wetted  with  tears  ? 

Remember,  though  God  is  in  heaven,  tny  love, 

He  sees  you,  within  and  without, 
And  always  looks  down  from  his  glory  above, 

To  notice  what  you  are  about. 

If  I  am  not  with  you,  or  if  it  be  dark, 

And  nobody  is  in  the  way, 
His  eye  is  as  able  your  doings  to  mark; 

In  the  night  as  it  is  in  the  day. 
Then  dry  up  yours  tears,  and  look  smiling  again 

And  never  do  things  that  are  wrong, 
For  I'm  sure  you  must  feel  it  a  terrible  pain 

To  be  naughty  and  crying  so  long. 

We'll  pray  then  that  God  may  your  passion  forgive? 

And  tt  ach  you  from  evil  to  fly  ; 
And  then  you'll  be  happy  as  long  as  you  live, 

And  happy  whenever  you  die. — ANN. 

HONEST  OLD  TRAY. 

O  !  don't  hurt  the  dog,  poor  honest  old  tray, 
Wfcat  good  will  it  do  you  to  drive  him  away  ? 


HONEST  OLD  TRAY. 


O  \  don't  hurt  the  dog,  poor  honest  old  tray, 
What  good  will  it  do  you  to  drive  him  away  ? 

Kind  usage  is  justly  his  right ; 
Remember  how  faithful  he  is  to  his  charge, 
And  barks  at  the  rogues  when  wo  set  him  at  large, 

And  guards  us  by  day  and  by  night. 

See  page  42- 


POEMS.  Id 

Kind  usage  is  justly  his  right ; 
Remember  how  faithful  he  is  to  his  charge, 
And  barks  at  the  rogues  when  we  set  him  at  large, 

And  guards  us  by  day  and  by  night. 

Though  you,  by  and  by,  will  grow  up  to  a  man, 
And  tray  is  a  dog,  let  him  grow  as  he  can — 

Remember,  my  good  little  lad, 
A  dog  that  is  honest,  and  faithful,  and  mild, 
Is  not  only  better  than  is  a  bad  child, 

But  better  than  men  that  are  bad. 

If  you  are  a  boy,  and  Tray  is  but  a  beast, 
I  think  it  should  teach  you  one  lesson  at  least— 
You  ought  to  act  better  than  he ; 
And  if  without  reason,  or  judgment,  or  sense, 
Tray  does  as  we  bid  him,  and  gives  no  offence, 
How  diligent  Richard  should  be  ! 

If  I  do  but  just  whistle,  as  often  you've  seen, 
He  seems  to  say  "  Master,  what  is  it  you  mean  1 

My  courage  and  duty  are  tried  ;" 
And  see,  when  I  throw  my  hat  over  the  pale, 
.He  fetches  it  back,  and  comes  wagging  his  tail, 

and  lays  it  down  close  by  my  side. 

Then  honest  old  Tray,  let  him  sleep  at  his  ease, 
While  you  from  him  learn  to  endeavour  to  please, 

And  obey  me  with  spirit  and  joy ; 
Or  else  we  shall  find  (what  wouhl  grieve  me  to   say,) 
That  Richard's  no  better  than  honest  old  Tray ! 

And  a  brute  has  more  sense  vthan  a  boy  ! — ANN. 

TO  A  LITTLE  GIRL  THAT  HAS  TOLD  A  LIES 

And  has  my  darling  told  a  lie ; 
Did  she  forget  that  God  was  by  1 
That  God  who  saw  the  thing  she  did, 
From  whom  no  action  can  be  hid ; 
Did  she  forget  that  God  could  see, 
And  hear  wherever  she  might  be  ? 


44  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

He  made  your  eyes  and  can  discern, 
Which  ever  way  you  think  to  turn  ; 
He  made  your  ears  and  he  can  hear, 
When  you  think  nobody  is  near ; 
In  every  place,  by  night  or  day, 
He  watches  all  you  do  and  say. 

You  thought  because  you  were  alone, 
Your  falsehood  never  could  be  known  ; 
But  liars  always  are  found  out, 
Whatever  ways  they  wind  about ; 
And  always  be  afraid,  my  dear, 
To  tell  a  lie — for  God  can' hear. 

I  wish  my  dear,  you'd  always  try, 
To  act  as  shall  not  need  a  lie ; 
And  when  you  wish  a  thing  to  do, 
That  has  been  once  forbidden  you, 
Remember  that,  nor  ever  dare 
To  disobey — for  God  is  there  ! 

Why  should  you  fear  to  tell  me  true  ? 
Confess,  and  then  I'll  pardon  you  ; 
Tell  me  you're  sorry,  and  will  try 
To  act  the  better  by  and  by, 
And  then  what'er  your  crime  has  been. 
It  wont  be  half  so  great  a  sin. 

But  cheerful,  innocent,  and  gay, 
As  passes  by  the  smiling  day, 
You'll  never  have  to  turn  aside, 
From  any  one  your  faults  to  hide  ; 
Nor  heave  a  sigh,  nor  have  a  fear, 
That  either  God,  or  I  should  hear. — ANN. 


THE  TWO  GARDENS. 

* 

WHEN  Harry  and  Dick  had  been  striving  to  please, 
Their  father  (to  whom  it  was  known) 

Made  two  little  gardens,  and  stocked  them  with  trees, 
And  gave  one  to  each,  for  his  own. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  45 

Harry  thanked  his  papa,  and  with  rake,  hoe,  and 
spade, 

Directly  began  his  employ ; 
And  soon  such  a  neat  little  garden  was  made, 

That  he  panted  with  labour  and  joy. 

There  was  always  some'bed,  or  some  border  to  mend, 
••  Or  somthing  to  tie  or  to  stick;  , 

And  Harry  rose  early  his  garden  to  tend, 
While  snoring  lay  indolent  Dick. 

The  tulip,  the  rose,  and  the  lily  so  white, 

United  their  beautiful  bloom ; 
And  often  the  honey-bee  stopped  from  its  flight,    - 

To  sip  delicious  perfume. 

A  neat  row  of  peas  in  full  blossom  were  seen, 
French  beans  were  beginning  to  shoot ; 

And  his  gooseb'ries  and  currants,  though  yet  they 

were  green, 
Foretold  him  a  plenty  of  fruit. 

But  Richard  loved  better  in  bed  to  repose, 
And  snug  as  he  curled  himself  round, 

Forgot  that  no  tulip,  nor  lily,  nor  rose, 
Nor  plant  in  his  garden  was  found. 

Rank  weeds,  and  tall  nettles  disfigured  his  beds, 

Nor  cabbage,  nor  lettuce  was  seen, 
The  slug  and  the  snail  showed  their   mischievous 
heads, 

And  eat  every  leaf  that  was  green. 

Thus  Richard  the  idle,  who  shrunk  from  the  cold, 

Beheld  his  trees  naked  and  bare ; 
While  Harry  the  active  was  charmed  to  behold, 

The  fruit  of  his  patience  and  care.  Ann. 


16 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 


MY  MOTHER 


WHO  fed  me  from  her  gentle  breast, 
And  hushed  me  in  her  arms  to  rest, 
And  on  my  cheek  sweet  kisses  prest  1 

My  mother. 

When  sleep  forsook  my  open  eye, 
Who  was  it  sang  sweet  hushaby, 
And  rocked  me  that  I  should  not  cry  1 

My  mother. 

Who  sat  and  watched  my  infant  head, 
When  sleeping  on  my  cradle  bed] 
And  tears  of  sweet  affection  shed  1 

My  mother. 

When  pain  and  sickness  made  me  cry,  x 
Who  gazed  upon  my  heavy  eye, 
And  wept  lor  fear  that  I  should  die  1 

My  mother. 

Who  dressed  my  doll  in  clothes  so  gay, 
And  taught  me  pretty  how  to  play,  . 
And  minded  all  I'd  got   to  say  ] 

My  mother. 

Who  ran  to  help  me  when  I  fell, 
And  would  some  pretty  story  tell,     . 
Or  kiss  the  place  to  make  it  well ! 

My  mother. 

Who  taught  my  infant  lips  to  pray,  » 

And  love  God's  holy  book  and  day, 
And  walk  in  wisdom's  pleasant  way? 

My  mother. 

And  can  I  ever  cease  to  be 
Affectionate  and  kind  to  thee, 
Who  wast  so  very  kind  to  me  ] 

My  mother. 


ORIGINAL  POE31S.  47 

Ah !  no,  the  thought  I  cannot  bear, 
And  if  God  please  my  life  to  spare, 
I  hope  I  shall  reward  thy  care, 

My  mother. 

When  thou  art  feeble,  old,  and  gray, 
My  healthy  arm  shall  be  thy  stay, 
And  I  will  sooth  thy  pains  away. 

My  mother. 

And  when  I  see  the  hang  thy  head, 
'Twill  be  my  turn  to  watch  thy  bed, 
And  tears  of  sweet  affection  shed, 

My  mother. 

For  God,  who  lives  above  the  skies, 
Would  look  with  vengeance  in  his  eyes 
If  I  should  ever  dare  despise 

My  mother. 
Ann. 


^  MY  FATHER. 

WHO  took  me  from  my  mother's  arms, 

And,  smiling  at  her  soft  alarms, 

Show'd  me  the  world  and  nature's  charms  1 

My  father. 

Who  made  me  feel  and  understand, 

The  wonders  of  the  sea  and  land, 

And  mark,  through  all,  the  Maker's  hand  1 

My  father. 

Who  climb'd  with  me,  the  mountain's  height, 
And  watch'd  my  look  of  dread  delight, 
While  rose  the  glorious  orb  of  light] 

My  father. 

Who,  from  each  flower,  and  verdant  stalk, 
Gather'd  a  honey'd  store  of  talk, 
To  fill  the  long,  delightful  walk! 

My  father. 


48  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

Not  on  an  insect  would  he  tread ; 
Nor  strike  the  stinging  nettle  dead : 
Who  taught  at  once  my  heart  and  head? 

My  father. 

Who  wrote  upon  that  heart  the  lin$ 
Religion  grav'd  on  Virtue's  shrine, 
To  make  the  human  race  divine  1 

My  father. 

Who  taught  my  early  mind  to  know 
*  The  God  from  whom  all  blessings  flow, 
Creator  of  all  things  below  1 

My  father. 

Who,  now,  in  pale  and  placid  light 
Of  mem'ry  gleams  upbn  my  sight, 
Bursting  the  sepulchre  of  night? 

My  father. 

O!  teach  me   still  the  Christian  plan ! 
Thy  practice  with  thy  precept  ran  : 
Nor  yet  desert  me  now  a  man, 

My  father. 

Still  let  thy  scholar's  heart  rejoice, 
With  charms  of  thy  angelic  voice, 
Still  prompt  the  motive  and  the  choice, 

My  father. 

For  yet  remains  a  little  space, 
Till  I  shall  meet  thee  face  to  face  : 
And  not,  as  now,  in  vain  embrace, 

My  father. 

Soon,  and  before  the  Mercy-seat 
Spirits  made  perfect — we  shall  meet ! 
Thee  with  what  transport  shall  I  greet, 

My  father ! 


ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

THE  PALACE  AND  COTTAGE, 
HIGH  on  a  mountain's  haughty  steep 

Lord  Hubert's  palace  stood ; 
Before  it  rolled  a  river  deep, 

Behind  it  waved  a  wood. 

Low  in  an  unfrequented  vale, 

A  peasant  built  his  cell ; 
Sweet  flow'rs  perfumed  the  cooling  gale, 

And  graced  his  garden  well. 

Loud  riot  through  Lord  Hubert's  hall 

In  noisy  clamours  ran; 
He  scarcely  closed  his  eyes  at  all, 

Till  breaking  day  began. 

In  scenes  of  quiet  and  repose 
Young  William's  life  was  spent ; 

WithTmorning's  early  beam  he  rose, 
And  whistled  as  he  went. 

On  sauces  rich  and  .viands  fine, 

Lord  Hubert  daily  fed ; 
His  goblet  filled  with  sparkling  wine  ; 

His  board  with  dainties  spread. 

Warm  from  the  sickle  or  the  plough, 

His  heart  as  light  as  air, 
His  garden  ground,  and  dappled  co\r 

Supplied  young  William's  fair 

On  beds  of  down,  beset  with  gold, 

With  satin  curtains  drawn. 
His  fev'rish  limbs  Lord  Hubert  rolled, 

From  midnight's  gloomt  o  morn. 

Stretched  on  a  hard  and  flocky  be<£ 

The  cheerful  rustic  lay ; 
And  sweetest  slumber  lulled  his  head, 

From  eve  to  break  of  day. 

Fever  and  gout,  and  aches  and  pains, 
Destroyed  Lord  Hubert's  rest ; 


«>U  01UG1NAL    POEMS, 

Disorder  burnt  in  all  his  veins, 
And  sickened  in  his  breast. 

A  stranger  to  the  ills  of  wealth, 

Behind  his  rugged  plough, 
The  cheek  of  William  glowed  with  health, 

And  cheerful  was  his  brow. 

No  gentle  friend  to 'sooth  his  pain, 

Sat  near  lord  Hubert's  bed  : 
His  friends  and  servants,  light  and  vain* 

From  scenes  of  sorrow  fled. 

But  when  on  William's  honest  head 

Time  scattered  silver  hairs, 
His  wife  and  children  round  his  bed, 

Partook  and  soothed  his  cares. 

The  solemn  hearse,  the  waving  plume. 

A  train  of  mourners  grim, 
Carried  lord  Hubert  to  the  tomb, 

But  no  one  cared  for  him. 

No  weeping  eye  no  gentle  breast, 

Lamented  his  decay, 
.  Nor  round  his  costly  coffin  prest,' 
To  gaze  upon  his  clay. 

But  when  upon  his  dying  bed 

Old  William  came  to  lie, 
When  clammy  sweats  had  chilled  his  heady 

And  death  had  dimmed  his  eye — 

Sweet  tears  of  fond  affection  dropped 

From  many  an  eyelid,  fell ; 
And  many  a  lip,  by  anguish  stopped, 

Half  spoke  the  sad  farewell. 

No  marble  pile,  nor  costly  tomb, 
Describes  where  William  sleeps  ;. 

But  there  wild  thyme,  and  cowslips  bloom, 
And  there  affection  weeps.  ANN. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  f»  1 

BAtt. 

MY  good  little  fellow  don't  throw  your  ball  there, 
You'll  break  neighbour's  windows,  I  know  :        , 

On  the  end  of  the  house,  there  is  room  and  to  spare; 

Go  round,  you  can  have  a  delightful  game  there, 
Without  fearing  for  where  you  may  throw. 

Harry  thought  he  might  safely  continue  his  play 

With  a  little  more  care  than  before ; 
So,  forgetful  of  all  that  his  father  could  say, 
.As  soon  as  he  saw  he  was  out  of  the  way, 

He.  resolved  to  have  fifty  throws  more. 

Already 'as  far  as  to  forty  he  rose, 

And  no  mischief  happened  at  all; 
One  more  and  one  more,  he  successfully  throws, 
But  when,  as  he  thought,  just  arrived  at  the  close, 

In  hopped  his  unfortunate  ball. 

Poor  Harry  stood  frightened,  and  turning  about, 

Was  gazing  at  what  he  had  done; 
As  the  ball  hopped  in,  so  neighbour  hopped  out, 
And  with  a  good  horsewhip  he  beat  him  about, 

Till  Harry  repented  his  fun. 

When  little  folks  think  they  know  bettter  than  great, 

And  what  is  forbidden  them  do  ; 
We  must  always  expect  to  see,  sooner  or  late, 
That  such  wise  little  fools,  have  a  similar  fate, 

And  that  one  of  the  fifty  go  through.  ANN. 


THE  FOX  AND  THE  CROW. 

THE  fox  and  the  crow, 

In  prose,  I  well  know, 
Many  good  little  girls  can  rehearse ; 

Perhaps  it  will  tell, 

Pretty  nearly  as  well, 
If  we  try  the  same  fable  in  verse. 

In  a  dairy  a  crow 
Having  ventured  to  sro, 


5'2  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

Some  food  for  her  young  ones  to  seek, 
Flew  up  in  the  trees, 
With  a  fine  piece  of  cheese, 

Which  she  joyfully  held  in  her  beak. 

A  fox  who  lived  nigh, 

To  the  tree  saw  her  fly, 
And  to  share  in  the  prize  made  a  vow  ! 

For  having  just  dined 

He  for  cheese  felt  inclined, 
So  he  went  and  sat  under  the  bough. 

She  was  cunning  he  knew, 

But  so  was  he  too, 
And  with  flatt'ry  adapted  his  plan ; 

For  he  knew  if  she'd  speak 

It  must  fall  from  her  beak  ; 
So  bowing  politely,  began : 

"  Tis  a  very  fine  day  ; 

(Not  a  word  did  she  say ;) 
The  wind,  I  believe,  ma'am,  is  south  ; 

A  fine  harvest  for  peas  ;" 

He  then  looked  at  the  cheese, 
But  the  crow  did  not  open  her  mouth. 

Sly  Reynard,  not  tir'd, 

Her  plumage  admired, 
"  How  charming !  how  brilliant  its  hue  ! 

The  voice  must  be  fine, 

Of  a  bird  so  divine, 
Ah  !  let  me  just  hear  it — pray  do. 

Believe  me  I  long 

To  hear  a  sweet  song." — 
The  silly  crow  foolishly  tries — 

She  scarce  gave  one  squall, 

When  the  cheese  she  let  fall, 
And  the  fox  ran  away  with  the  prize. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  5^ 

MORAL 

Ye  innocent  fair, 

>O.  coxcombs  beware, 
To  flattery  never  give  ear ; 

Try  well  each  pretence, 

And  keep  to  plain  sense, 
And  then  you  have  little  to  fear.  LITTLEB 

THE  MOTHER'S  WISH. 

MAY  cloudless  beams  of  grace  and  truth 
Adorn  my  daughter's  opening  youth  ; 
Long  happy  in  her  native  home, 
Among  its  fragrant  groves  to  roam. 
May  choicest  blessings  her  attend, 
Blest  in  her  parents,  sisters,  friend ! 
May  no  rude  wish  assail  her  breast, 
To  love  this  world,  by  all  confest 
As  only  given  us  to  prepare 
For  one  eternal,  bright,  and  fair. 
This  world  shall  then  no  force  retain; 
Its  syren  voice  shall  charm  in  vain ; 
Religion's  aid,  true  peace  will  bring ; 
Her  voice  with  joy  shall  praises  sing 
To  him  whose  streams  of  mercy  flow, 
To  cheer  the  heart  overcharged  with  wo  ; 
And  whilst  retirement's  sweets  we  prove, 
For  ever  praise  redeeming  love. 

Written  at  Banning* 

TO  MARIA. 

How  happy  the  days  of  your  youth, 
Instructed  in  virtue  and  truth, 

By  the  parents  you  love  and  revere: 
Your  dwelling  is  healthy  and  neat — 
Of  sisters  so  dear  the  retreat, 

And  of  neighbours  abundance  are  nenr. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

Oh  think  whence  these  blessings  arise, 
From  a  being  so  gracious  and  wise: 

And  should  they  by  him  be  withdrawn  ; 
Should  ever  degree  of  distress, 
My  dearest  of  daughters  oppress, 

When  torn  from  the  sweet  verdant  lawn , 

From  what  must  she  then  seek  relief, 
When  her  mind  is  disturbed  with  grief, 

But  from  God  who  but  chastens  to  bless; 
Fine  garments,  rich  food,  and  bright  wine, 
With  which  the  voluptuous  dine, 

Enervate  beyond  all  redress. 

In  the  sad  sober  moments  of  wo, 
Which  each  mortal  is  destined  to  know, 

With  joy  will  a  Christian  perceive, 
That  life  as  a  vision  recedes, 
That  faith,  rendered  bright  by  good  deeds, 

A  blessed  reward  will  receive. 

Should  you  as  a  mother  or  wife, 
Be  called  on  to  act  in  this  life, 

Oh  !  striv.e  every  virtue  to  trace ! 
On  the  minds  you  may  have  to  attend ; 
Join  at  once  the  kind  mother  and  friend, 

And  pray  for  their  virtue  and  grace. 

Written  at  Barming, 


THE  SNAIL. 

snail,  how  he  creeps  slowly  over  the  wall, 
He  seems  not  to  make  any  progress  at  all, 

Almost  where  you  leave  him  you  find  him ; 
His  long  shining  body  he  stretches  out  well, 
And  drags  along  with  him  his  round  hollow  shell, 

And  leaves  a  bright  pathway  behind  him. 

Do  look,  said  young  Tom,  at  the  lazy  old  snail, 
He's  almost  an  hour  crawling  over  a  pale, 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  50 

Enough  all  one's  patience  to  worry ; 
Now,  if  I  were  he,  I  would  gallop  away, 
Half  over  the  world— twenty  miles  in  a  day, 

And  turn  business  off  in  a  hurry. 

Well,  Tom,  said  his  Father,  but  as  I'm  afraid 
That  into  a  snail  you  can  never  be  made, 

But  still  must  remain  a  young  master ; 
As  such  sort  of  wishes  can  nothing  avail, 
Take  a  hint  for  yourself  from  your  jokes  on  the  snail, 

And  do  your  own  work  rather  faster.  J.  T. 


THE  HOLIDAYS. 

AH  !  don't  you  remember  'tis  almost  December,- 

And  soon  will  the  holidays  come  ? 
Oh  !  'twill  be  so  funny,  I've  plenty  of  money, 

I'll  buy  me  a  sword  and  a  drum. 

Thus  said  little  Harry,  unwilling  to  tarry, 

Impatient  to  hurry  from  school;    ' 
But  we  shall  discover  this  holiday  lover 

Spoke  both  like  a  child  and  a  fool. 

For  when  he  alighted,  so  highly  delighted, 

Away  from  his  sums  and  his  books, 
'Tho'  playthings  surrounded,  and  sweetmeats  abound 
ed, 

Chagrin  still  appeared  in  his  looks. 

Though   first  they   delighted,   his  toys   were  now 
slighted, 

And  thrown  away  out  of  his  sight; 
He  spent  every  morning  with  stretching  and  yawning, 

Yet  went  to  bed  weary  at  night. 

He  had  not  that  treasure  which  really  makes  pleasure, 

(A  secret  discovered  by  few:) 
You'll  take  it  for  granted,  more  playthings  he  wanted, 

O  no ; — it  was  something  to  do. 


56  ORIGINAL    POEM?. 

He  found  that  employment  created  enjoyment, 

And  passed  the  time  cheerful  away ; 
That  study  and  reading,  by  far  were  exceeding 

His  cakes,  and  his  toys,  and  his  play. 

To  school  now  returning,  to  study  and  learning, 

With  pleasure  did  Harry  apply  ; 
He  felt  no  aversion  to  books,  'twas  diversion, 

And  caused  him  to  smile,  not  to  sigh,  J.  T. 

OLD  SARAH. 

WITH  haggard  eye,  and  wrinkled  face, 
Old  Sarah  goes,  with  tott'ring  pace, 

From  door  to  door  to  beg ; 
.  With  gipsy  hat  and  tattered  gown, 
And  petticoat  of  dirty  brown  ; 

And  many-coloured  leg. 

No  blazing  fire,  no  cheerful  home ; 
She  wanders  comfortless  and  lone, 

While  winds  and  tempests  blow  ; 
And  every  traveller  passing  by, 
She  follows  with  a  doleful  cry 

Of  poverty  and  wo. 

But  see !  her  arm  no  basket  bears, 
With  laces  gay  and  wooden  wares; 

And  garters  blue  and  red  ; 
To  stroll  about  and  drink  her  gin, 
She  loves  far  better  than  to  spin, 

Or  work  to  earn  her  bread. 

Old  Sarah  every  body  knows, 
Nor  is  she  pitied  as  she  goes, 

A  melancholy  sight ; 
For  people  do  not  like  to  give 
Their  alms  to  those  who  idle  live, 

And  wont  work  when  they  miofbt.      J.  T. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  57 

OLD  SUSAN. 

OLD  Susan,  in  a  cottage  small, 

Though  low  the  roofj  and  mud  the  wall, 

And  goods  a  scanty  store, 
Enjoys  within  her  peaceful  shed, 
Her  wholesome  crust  of  barley  bread, 

Nor  does  she  covet  more. 

Though  old  and  feeble"  she  must  feel, 
She  daily  plies  her  spinning  wheel, 

Within  her  cottage  gate  : 
And  thus  with  industry  and  care, 
Though  low  her  purse,  and  hard  her  fare, 

She  envies  not  the  great. 

A  decent  gown  she  always  wears, 
Though  many  an  ancient  patch  it  bears, 

And  many  a  one  that's  new  : 
No  dirt  is  seen  within  her  door, 
Red  sand  she  sprinkles  on  the  floor, 

As  tidy  people  do. 

Old  Susan  every  body  knew, 
And  every  one  respected  too, 

Her  industry  and  care ; 
And  if  in  sickness  or  in  wo, 
Her  neighbours  gladly  would  bestow, 

The  little  they  could  spare.  J.  T. 


THE  GLEANER. 

BEFORE  the  bright  sun  rises  over  the  hill, 
In  the  cornfields  poor  Mary  is  seen, 

Impatient  her  little  blue  apron  to  fill, 

With  the  few  scattered  ears  she  can  glean. 

She  never  leaves  off,  or  runs  out  of  her  place, 

To  play,  or  to  idle  and  chat, 
Except  now  and  then,  just  to  wipe  her  hot  face, 

And  fan  herself  with  her  broad  jhat. 


f>8  ORIGINAL    1'OEMS. 

"  Poor  girl,  hard  at  work  in  the  heat  of  the  sun, 

How  tired  and  hot  you  must  be; 
Why  dontt  you  leave  off,  as  the  others  have  don. 

And  sit  with  them  under  the  tree  1" 

"  Oh  no !  for  my  mother  lies  ill  in  her  bed, 

Too  feeble  to  spin  or  'to  knit, 
And  my  poor  little  brothers  are  crying  for  bread, 

And  yet  we  can't  give  them  a  bit ! 

"Then  could  I  be  merry,  and  idle,  and  play, 

While  they  are  so  hungry  and  ill  ? 
O  no,  I  had  rather  work  hard  all  the  day, 

My  little  blue  apron  to  fill." 


SNOW. 

0  COME  to  the  window,  dear  brother  and  see 
What  mischief  was  done  in  the  night ; 

The  snow  has  quite  covered  the  nice  apple  tree, 
And  the  bushes  are  sprinkled  with  white. 

The  spring  in  the  grove  is  beginning  to  freeze, 

The  pond  is  hard  frozen  all  o'er ;' 
Long  icicles  hang  in  bright  rows  from  the  trees, 

And  drop  in  odd  shapes  from  the  door. 

The  old  mossy  thatch,  and  the  meadow  so  green, 

Are  covered  all  over  with  white ; 
The  snow-drop  and  crocus  no  more  can  be  seen, 

The  thick  snow  has  covered  them  quite. 

And  see  the  poor  birds,  how  they  fly  to  and  fro, 
They  are  come  for  their  breakfast  again  ; 

But  the  little  worms  all  are  hid  under  the  snow, 
They  hop  about  chirping  in  vain. 

Then  open  the  window,  I'll  throw  them  some  bread, 
I've  some  of  my  breakfast  to  spare; 

1  wish  they  would  come  to  my  hand  to  be  fed ; 
-  But  they're  all  flown  away,  I  declare. 


THE  PIGS. 


"  But  when  a  great  boy,  such  as  you  my  dear  Dick, 

Does  nothing  but  eat  all  the  day, 
And  keeps  sucking  gocd  things  till  he  makes  himself  sick» 

What  a  glutton !  indeed,  we  may  say. 

See  page  59. 


* 


.  ORIGINS  L  POEMS.  59 

Nay,  now  pretty  birds,  don't  be  frightened  I  pray; 

You  shall  not  be  hurt  I'll  engage ; 
I'm  not  come  to  catch  you  and  force  you  away, 

And  fasten  you  up  in  a  cage  ; 

I  wish  you  could  know  you've  no  cause  for  alarm ; 

From  me  you  have  nothing  to  fear; 
Why,  my  little  fingers  could  do  you  no  harm, 

Although  you  came  ever  so  near.  J.  T. 

THE  PIGS. 

"  Do  look  at  those  pigs,  as  they  lay  in  the  straw," 

Little  Richard  said  to  his  papa; 
"  They  keep  eating  longer  than  ever  I  saw ; 

What  nasty  fat  gluttons  they  are !" 

"  I  see  they  are  feasting,"  his  father  replied, 

"  They  eat  a  great  deal  I  allow  ; 
But  let  us  remember,  before  we  deride, 

Tis  the  nature,  my  dear,  of  a  sow. 

"  But  when  a  great  boy,  such  as  you,  my  dear  Dick, 

Does  nothing  but  eat  all  the  day, 
And  keeps  sucking  good  things  till  he  makes  himself 
sick, 

What  a  glutton  !  indeed,  we  may  say. 

"  When  plumcake  and  sugar  for  ever  he  picks, 
And  sweetmeats,  and  comfits,  and  figs, 

Pray  let  him  get  rid  of  his  own  nasty  tricks, 

And  then  he  may  laugh  at  the  pigs."  J.  T. 

FINERY. 

IN  a  frock  richly  trimmed  with  beautiful  lace, 
And  hair  nicely  dressed  hanging  over  her  face. 
Thus  decked,  Harriet  went  to  the  house  of  a  friend, 
With,  a  large  little  party  the  evening<to  spend, 

Ah !  how  they  will  all  be  delighted,  I  guesss 
And  stare  with  surprise  at  my  elegant  dress  ; 


GO  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

Thus  said  the  vain  girl,  and  her  little  heart  beat, 
Impatient  the  happy  young  party  to  meet. 

But  alas  !  they  were  all  too  intent  on  their  fun, 
To  observe  the  gay  clothes  this  fine  lady  had,on  ; 
And  thus  all  her  trouble  quite  lost  its  design, 
For  they  saw  she  was  proud,  but  forgot  she  was  fine. 

'Twas  Lucy,  though  only  in  simple  white  clad, 
(Nor  trimmings,  nor  laces,  nor  jewels  she  had,) 
Whose  cheerful  good  nature  delighted  the  more, 
Than  all  the  fine  garments  that  Harriet  wore. 

'Tis  better  to  have  a  sweet  smile  on  one's  face 
Than  to  wear  a  rich  frock  with  an  elegant  lace, 
For  the  good-natured  girl  is  loved  best  in  the  main, 
If  her  dress  is  but  decent/though  ever  so  plain. 

J.T. 

CRAZY  ROBERT. 

POOR  Robert  is  crazy,  his  hair  has  turned  gray, 
His  beard  is  grown  long,  and  hangs  down  to  his 
breast ; 

Misfortune  has  taken  his  reason  away, 

His  heart  has  no  comfort,  his  head  has  no  rest. 

Poor  man,  it  would  please  me  to  soften  thy  woes, 
To  sooth  thy  affliction,  and  yield  the  support : 

But  see,  through  the  village,  wherever  he  goes, 
The  cruel  boys  follow  and  turn  him  to  sport. 

'Tis  grievous  to  see  how  the  pitiless  rnob, 

Run  round  him  and  mimic  his  mournful  complaint,. 

And  try  to  provoke  him,  and  call  him  old  Bob, 
And  hunt  him  about  till  he  is  ready  to  faint. 

But  ah  !  wicked  children  ;  I  fear  they  forget 
'  That  God  does  their  cruel  diversions  behold  ; 
And  that  in  his  book  dreadful  curses  are  writ, 
For  those  who  shall  mock  at  the  poor  and  the  old. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS. 


61 


Poor  Robert,  thy  troubles  will  shortly  be  o'er, 
Forgot  in  the  grave  thy  misfortunes  will  be  ; 

But  God  will  his  vengeance  assuredly  pour 
On  those  wicked  children  who  persecute  thee. 

J.T. 

EMPLOYMENT. 

WH'OLL  come  and  play  with  me  here  under  the  tree,. 

My  sisters  have  left  me  alone  ; 
My  sweet  little  sparrow  come  hither  to  me, 

And  play  with  me  while  they  are  gone. 

O  no,  little  lady,  I  can't  come  indeed, 

I've  no  time  to  idle  away, 
I've  got  all  my  dear  little  childreen  to  feed, 

And  my  nest  to  new  cover  with  hay. 

Pretty  bee,  do  not  buz  about  over  the  flower, 
But  come  here  and  play  with  me,  do ; 

The  sparrow  won't  come  and  stay  with  mean  hour,. 
But  say,  pretty  bee,  will  not  you! 

0  no,  little  lady,  for  do  not  you  see, 

Those  must  work  who  would  prosper  and  thrive  ; 
If  I  play  they  would  call  me  a  sad  idie  bee, 
And  perhaps  turn  me  out  of  the  hive. 

Stop !  stop!  little  ant,  do  not  run  off  so  fast, 
Wait  with  me  a  little  and  play ; 

1  hope  I  shall  find  a  companion  at  last, 

You  are  not  so  busy  as  they. 

0  no,  little  lady,  I  can't  stay  with  you, 
We're  not  made  to  play,  but  to  labour ; 

1  always  have  something  or  other  to  do, 

If  not  for  myself,  for  a  neighbour. 

What  then,  have  they  all  some  employment  but  me, 
Who  lay  lounging  here  like  a  dunce? 

O  then,  like  the  ant,  and  the  sparrow,  and  bee, 
I'll  go  to  my  lesson  at  once.  j.  T. 

r, 


62  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

THE  FIGHTING  BIRDS. 

Two  little  birds  in  search  of  food, 

Flew  o'er  the  fields  and  skimmed  the  flood, 

At  last  a  worm  they  spy ; 
But  who  should  take  the  prize  they  strove, 
Their  quarrel  sounded  through  the  grove, 

In  notes  both  shrill  and  high. 

But  now  a  hawk  whose  piercing  sight, 

Had  marked  his  prey,  and  watched  their  fight, 

With  certain  aim  descended  ; 
And  pouncing  on  their  furious  strife, 
He  stopped  their  battle  with  their  life, 

And  so  the  war  was  ended. 

Thus,  when  in  discord  brothers  live, 
And  frequent  blows  of  anger  give, 

With  hate  their  bosoms  rending ; 
In  life  with  rogues  perchance  they  meet, 
To  take  advantage  of  their  heat, 

Their  lives  in  sorrow  ending.  J.  T. 

CREATION. 

COME,  child,  look  upwards  to  the  sky, 

Behold  the  sun  and  moon, 
Th'  expanse  of  stars  that  sparkle  high, 

To  cheer  the  midnight  gloom. 

Come,  child,  and  now  behold  the  earth 

In  varied  beauty  stand  : 
The  product  view  of  six:  days'  birth, 

How  wondrous  and  how  grand! 

The  fields,  the  meadows,  and  the  plain, 

The  little  laughing  hills, 
The  waters  too,  the  mighty  main, 

The  rivers  and  the  rill. 

Come,,  then,  behold  them  all,  and  say; 
"  How  came  these  things  to  be, 


ORiGrNAL    POEMS.  Od 

That  stand  before,  which  ever  way 
I  turn  myself  to  see  T' 

'Twas  God,  who  made  the  earth  and  sea, 

To  whom  the  angels  bow  ; 
Twas  God  who  made  both  thee  and  me — 

The  God  who  sees  us  now.  J.  T. 


THIS  TEMPEST. 

HARK  !  'tis  the  tempest's  hollow  sound, 
The  bursting  thunder  and  the  rain, 

While  dense  and  heavy  clouds  unbound, 
In  torrents  fall  upon  the  plain. 

See  too  the  lightnings'  vivid  flash, 
In  quick  succession  fire  the  sky; 

All  form  a  universal  crash  , 
Of  elements  at  enmity. 

The  solid  earth,  as  if  with  fear, 

Trembles  beneath  the  mighty  war; 

The  waters,  too,  in  mountains  rear, 
Loosed  from  the  yoke  of  nature's  law. 

Behold  the  bellowing  herds,  the  heath 
Forsake  with  haste,  for  shelter  fled ; 

While  shepherds  fly,  with  panting  breath, 
In  equal  speed  and  greater  dread. 

And  see  yon  ancient  massy  oak, 
The  forest's  pride,  for  ages  stood, 

Its  sturdy  stem  in  shivers  broke, 

Its  head  driven  downwards  in  the  flood. 

Tossed  by  the  waves  the  wretched  bark, 

Alternate  see  it  sink  and  rise ; 
Now  fixed  on  rocks,  a  shattered  mark 

For  furious  winds  and  billows,  lies, 

In  vain  the  drowning  sailors  cry, 

Their  shriek  is  lost,  while  thunders  roar  ; 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

In  vain  their  moans,  no>help  is  nigh, 
Or  ship  or  hospitable  shore. 

And  does  this  tempest  rage  in  vnin  ? 

And  does  no  power,  with  potent  arm, 
Its  fury  suffer  or  restrain, 

From  injuring  hold,  or  guide  the  harm? 

Ah  !  yes,  a  power  indeed  presides, 
Yes,  there's  a  potent  being  reigns ; 

Above  the  storm  th'  Almighty  rides  ; 
These  awful  scenes  'tis  he  ordains. 

Then  calm  each  'fear,  and  silent  stand 
To  learn  his  wisdom  and  his  care, 

The  flash  unloosed  from  out  his  hand, 

Proclaims  in  thunder — God  is  there.  J.  T, 


ADDRESS  TO  AN  INFANT. 

WELCOME,  happy  little  stranger, 
To  this  busy  world  of  care  ! 

Nothing  can  thy  peace  endanger, 
Nothing  now  thy  steps  ensnare. 

Precious  babe !  thou  art  excluded 
From  all  thought  of  trouble  near ; 

No  distress  has  yet  intruded, 
Keen  remorse,  nor  restless  fear. 

Innocence  and  peace  attend  thee ! 

Balmy  slumbers  now  are  thine  ; 
Every  change  to  thee  is  friendly ; 

Love  and  joy  around  thee  shine. 

Yet,  alas !  behind  the  curtain, 
Tribulation  veils  her  form; 

Disappointment's  stamp  is  certain; 
Virtue,  only,  shields  from  harm. 

Now  a  mother's  care  is  wanted ; 
All  thy  cravings  are  supplied  ; 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

All  thy  infant  claims  are  granted,  ' 
Nor  one  comfort  is  denied. 

How  her  bosom  pants  with  pleasure J 
All  her  feelings  are  awake  ; 

Gladly  would  she,  little  treasure, 
All  thy  pains  and  sufferings  take.  • 

May'st  thou,  if  designed  by  Heaven, 
Future  days  and  years  to  see, 

Sooth  her,  make  her  passage  even, 
Let  her  heart  rejoice  in  thee ! 

May  her  anxious  care  and  labours, 

Be  repaid  by  filial  love;- 
And  thy  soul  be  crown'd  with  favours, 

From  the  boundless  source  above. 


TURNIP  TOPS. 

WHILE  yet  the  white  frost  sparkles  over  the  ground, 
And  daylight  just  peeps  from  the  misty  blue  sky, 

In  yonder  green  fields,  with  my  basket  I'm  found ; 
Come  buy  my  nice  turnip  tops — turnip  tops,  buy. 

Badly  cold  are  my  fingers,  all  drenched  with   the 

dew, 

For  the  sun  had  scarce  risen  in  the  meadows  to  dry, 
And  my  feet  have  goij  wet  with  a  hole  in  my  shoe, 
Come  hasten  then,  buy  my  sweeet  turnip  tops, 
buy. 

While  you  are  asleep,  with  your  bed  curtains  drawn, 
On  pillows  of  down,  in  your  chamber  so  high, 

I  trip  with  the  first  rosy  beam  of  the  morn 

To  cull  the  green  tops, — come  my  turnip  tops  buy. 

Then,  with  the  few  halfpence  or  pence  I  can  earn, 
A  loaf  for  my  poor  mother's  breakfast  I'll  buy  ; 

And  to-morrow  again,  little  Ann  shall  return 

With  her  turnip  tops,  green  and  fresh  gathered,  to 
cry. 


•60  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

THE  VULGAR  LITTLE  LADY. 

«'  BUT  mamma,  now,"  said  Charlotte, "  pray  don't  you 
believe, 

That  I'm  better  than  Jenny  my  nurse  1 
Only  see  my  red  shoes  and  lace  on  my  sleeves ; 

Her  clothes  are  a  thousand  times  worse. 

"  I  ride  in  a  coach,  and  have  nothing  to  do, 
And  the  country  folks -stare  at  me  so; 

And  nobody  dares  to  control  me  but  you, 
Because  I'm  a  lady,  you  know. 

"  The. servants  are  vulgar,  and  I  am  genteel, 
They  are  creatures  that  nobody  knows, 

So  I'm  sure  now  mamma,  that  I'm  better  a  deal, 
Than  maids  and  such  people  as  those." 

"  True  gentility,  Charlotte,"  her  mother  repli'd, 

"  Is  confined  to  no  station  or  place ; 
And  nothing's  so  vulgar  as  folly  and  pride, 

Though  drest  in  red  slippers  and  lace. 

"  Not  all  the  fine  things  that  fine  ladies  possess,     - 
Should  teach  them  the  poor  to  despise, 

For  'tis  in  good  manners,  and  not  in  good  dress, 
That  the  truest  gentility  lies." 


THE  HORSE. 

A  HORSE,  long  used  to  bit  and  bridle, 
But  always  much  disposed  to  idle, 
Had  often  wished  that  he  was  able 
To  steal  unnoticed  from  the  stable. 

He  panted,  from  his  inmost  soul, 
To  be  at  nobody's  control ; 
Go  his  own  pace,  slower  or  faster, 
In  short,  do  nothing — like  his  master. 

But  yet  he  ne'er  had  got  at  large. 
If  Jack  (who  had  him  in  his  charge) 


.••Rlf.INAL    POEM.-. 

"Had  not,  as  many  have  before, 
Forgot  to  shut  the  stable  door. 

Dobbin,  with  expectation  swelling, 
Now  rose  to  quit  his  present  dwelling,; 
But  first  peep'd  out,  with  cautious  fear, 
T'  examine  if  the  coast  was  clear. 

At  length  he  ventured  from  his  station, 
And  with  extreme  self-approbation. 
As  if  deliver'd  from  a  load, 
He  gallop'd  to  the  public  road, 

And  here  he  stood  awhile  debating, 
(Till  he  was  almost  tired  of  wating) 
Which  way  he'd  please  to  bend  his  course, 
Now  there  was  nobody  to  force. 

At  last,  nncheck'd  by  bit  or  rein, 
He  saunter'd  down  a  pleasant  lane, 
And  neighed  forth  many  a  jocund  song 
In  triumph,  as  ha  pass'd  along. 

But  when  dark  night  bagan  t'appear, 
In  vain  he  sought  some  shelter  near, 
And  he  was  sure  he  could  not  bear 
To  sleep  out  in  the  open  air. 

The  grass  felt  very  damp  and  raw 
Much  colder  than  his  master's  straw, 
Yet.  on  it  he  was  forced  to  stretch, 
A  poor,  cold  melancholy  wretch. 

The  night  was  dark,  the  country  hilly, 
Poor  Dobbin  felt  extreme!}7"  chilly  ; 
Perhaps  a  feeling  like  remorse, 
Just  now  might  sting  the  gentle  horse. 

As  soon  as  day  began  to  dawn, 
Dobbin,  with  long  and  weary  yawn. 
Arose  from  this  his  sleepless  night, 
But  in  low  spirits  and  bad  plight 


If  this  (thought  he)  is  all  I  get, 
A  bed  unwholesome,  cold,  and  wet; 
And  thus  forlorn  about  to  roam, 
I  think  I'd  better  be  at  home. 

'Twas  long  e'er  Dobbin  could  decide, 
Betwixt  his  wishes  and  his  pride, 
Whether  to  live  in  all  this  danger, 
Or  go  back  sneaking  to  the  manger. 

At  last  his  struggling  pride  gave  way; 
The  thought  of  savory  oats  and  hay 
To  hungry  stomach',  was  a  reason 
Unanswerable  at  this  season. 

So  off  he  set,  with  look  profound, 

Right  glad  that  he  was  homeward  bound; 

And  trotting  fast  as  he  was  able, 

Soon  gained  once  more  his  master's  stable. 

Now  Dobbin,  after  this  disaster, 
Never  again  forsook  his  master, 
Convinced  'twas  best  to  let  him  mount, 
Than  travelling  on  his  own  account. 


MEDDLESOME  MATTY. 

O,  HOW  one  ngly  trick  has  spoiled   •    . 

The  swetest  and  the  best ! 
Matilda  though  a  pleasant  child, 

One  ugly  trick  possessed, 
Which,  like  a  cloud  before  the  skies, 
Hid  all  her  better  qualities. 

Sometimes  she'd  lift  the  tea-pot  lid, 
To  peep  at  what  was  in  it ; 

Or  tilt  the  kettle  if  you  did 
But  turn  your  back  a  minute. 

In  vain  you  told  her  not  to  touch, 

Her  trick  of  meddling  grew  so  much. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

Her  grandmamma  went  out   one  day, 

And  by  mistake  she  laid 
Her  spectacles  and  snuff-box  gay, 

Too  near  the  little  maid ; 
Ah !  well,  thought  she,  I'll  try  them  on, 
As  soon  as  grandmamma  is  gone. 

Forthwith  she  plac'd  upon  her  nose 

The  glasses,  large  arid  wide  ; 
And  looking  round,  as  I  suppose, 

The  snuff-box  too  she  spied ; 

0  what  a  pretty  box  is  this, 
I'll  open  it,  said  little  miss. 

1  know  that  grandmamma  would  say, 

Don't  meddle  with  it  dear ; 
But  then  she's  far  enough  away, 

And  no  one  else  is  near; 
Beside,  what  can  their  be  amiss, 
In  opening  such  a  box  as  this  ] 
So  thumb  and  finger  went  to  work 

To  move  the  stubborn  lid  ; 
And  presently  a  mighty  jirk, 

The  mighty  mischief  did; 
For  all  at  once,  ah  !  woeful  case 
The  snuff  came  puffing  in  her  face  ! 
Poor  eyes,  and  nose,  and^mouth,  and  chin, 

A  dismal  sight  presented  ;     > 
And  as  the  snuff  got  further  in, 

Sincerely  she  repented : 
In  vain  she  ran  about  for  ease, 
She  could  do  nothing  else  but  sneeze ! 
She  dashed  the  spectacles  away, 

To  wipe  her  tingling  eyes; 
And  as  in  twenty  bits  they  lay, 

Her  grandmamma  she  spies. 
Hey  day!  and  what's  the  matter  now? 
*Cried  grandmamma  with  lifted  brow. 


ORKtlNAl,  ron.Yi.-. 

Matilda  smarting  wit!)  the  pain, 
And  tingling  still  and  sore, 

Made  many  a  promise  to  refrain 
From  meddling  evermore ; 

And  'tis  a  fact,  as  I  have  heard, 

She  ever  since  has  kept 'her  word. 


THE  LAST  DYING  SPEECH  AND  CONFESSION  OF 
POOR  PUSS. 

KIND  masters  and  misses,  whoever  you  be, 
Do  stop  for  a  moment,  and  pity  poor  me ! 
While  here  on  my  death-bed  I  try  to  relate 
My  many  misfortunes,  and  miseries  great. 

My  dear  mother,  Tabby,  I've  often  heard  say, 

That  I  have  been  a  very  fine  cat  in  my  day,  • 

But  the  sorrows  in  which  my  whole  life  has  been 

passed, 
Have  spoiled  all  my  beauty,  and  killed  me  at  last 

Poor  thoughtless  young  thing  !  if  I  recollect  right, 
I  was  kittened  in  March,  on  a  clear  frosty  nisrht; 
And  before  I  could  see,  OF  was  half  a  week  odd, 
I  nearly  had  perished,  the  barn  was  so  cold. 

But  this  chilly  springH  got  pretty  well  over, 
And  moused  in  the  hay-loft,  or  played  in  the  clover; 
And  when  this  displeased  me,  or  mousing  was  stale, 
I  used  to  run  round  and  round  after  my,  tail. 

But  ah!  my  poor  tail,  and  my  pretty  sleek  ears; 
The  farmer's  boy  cut  them  all  off  with  his*  shears ; 
And  little  I  thought  when  I  licked  them  so  clean, 
I  should  be  such  a  figure  not  fit  to  be  seen. 

Some  time  after  this,  when  my  sores  where  all  healed, 
As  I  laid  in  the  sun  sound  asleep,  in  a  field, 
Miss  Fanny  crept  slily,  and  gripping  me  fast, 
Declared  she  had  caught  the  sweet  creature  at  last. 


POOR  PUS& 


But  kicking,  and  beating,  arid  starving,  and  that., 
I've  borne  with  a  spirit  becoming  a  cat ; 
There  was  but  one  thing  which  I  could  not  sustain* 
!£o  great  was  ray  sorrow,  so  hopeless  my  pain. 

See  page  71 . 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  71 

Ah  me  !  how  I  strugeled  my  freedom  to  gain, 
But  alas!  all  my  kicking  and  scratching  were  vain; 
For  she  held  me  so  tight,  in  her  pin-a-fore  tied, 
That  before  she  had  got  home,  I  had  like  to  have  died. 

From  this  dreadful  morning  my  sorrows  arose; 
Wherever  I  went  I  was  followed  with  blpws ; 
Some  kicked  me  for  nothing,  while  quietly  sleeping, 
Or  flogged  me,  for  daring  the  pantry  to  peep  in  : 

And  then  the  great  dog!  I  shall  never  forget  him; 
Plow  many's  the  time  master  Jackey  would  set  him: 
And  while  I  stood  terrified  all  of  a  quake, 
Cried  '  hey  cat !  and  seize  her  boy,  give  her  a  shake. 

Sometimes,  when  so  hungry  I  could  Hot  forbear 
Just  taking  a  scrape,  that  I  thought  they  could  spare, 
Oh !  what  I  have  suffered  with  beating  and  banging, 
Or  starved  for  a  fortnight,  or  threatened  with  hanging. 

But  kicking,  and  beating,  and  starving,  and  that, 
I've  borne  with  a  spirit  becoming  a  cat ; 
There  was  but  one  thing  which  I  could  not  sustain, 
So  great  was  my  sorrow,  so  hopeless  my  pain. 

One  morning,  safe  hid  in  a  warm  little  bed, 
That  down  in  the  stable  I'd  carefully  spread, 
Three  sweet  little  kittens  as  ever  you  saw, 
I  concealed  as  I  thought  in  some  trusses  of  straw. 

I  was  never  so  happy,  T  think,  nor  so  proud, 
I.  mewed  to  my  kittens,  and  purred  out  loud ; 
And  thought  with  delight  of  the  merry  carousing 
We'd  have,  when  I  first  took  them  with  me  a  mousing. 

But  how  shall  I  tell  you  the  sorrowlul  ditty; 
I'm  sure  it  would  melt  even  Growler  to  pity : 
For  the  very  next  nlornig,  my  darlings  I  found* 
Lying  dead  by  the   horse   pond,  all  mangled  and 
drowned  ! 


72  ORIGINAL    POEMS*     , 

Poor  darlings !  I  dragged  them  along  to  the  stable.-. 
And  did  ail  to  warm  them  a  mother  was  able ; 
But  alas  !  all  my  licking  and  mewing  were  vain, 
And  I  thought  1  should  ne'er  have  been  happy  again,. 
However,  time  gave  me  a  little  relief, 
And  mousing  diverted  the  thoughts  of  my  grief, 
And  at  last  I  began  to  be  gay  arid  contented, 
Till  one  dreadful  morning,  for  ever  repented. 
Miss  Fanny  was  fond  of  a  favourite  sparrow, 
And'often  I  longed  for  a  taste  of  its  marrow; 
So  not  having  eaten  a  morsel  all  day, 
I  flew -to  the  cage,  and  tore  it  away. 

Now  tell  me,  kind  friends,  was  the  like  ever  heard, 
That  a  cat  should  be  killed  for  just  catching  a  bird  I 
And  I'm  sure  not  the  slightest  suspicion  I  had, 
But  that  catching  a  mouse  was  exactly  as  bad. 

Indeed,  I  can  say  with  my  paw  on  my  heart, 
I  would  not  have  acted  a  mischievous  part; 
P»ut  as  dear  mother  Tabby  was  often  repeating, 
I  thought  birds  and  mice  were  on  purpose  for  eating. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  with  the  noise  of  its  squeaking, 
Miss  Fanny  camein,  while  my  whiskers  were  reeking, 
An-.'l  on  my  poor  back  with  the  hot  poker  flying, 
She  gave  me  those  bruises  of  which  1  am  dying. 

But  I  feel  that  my  breath  grows  shorter  apace, 
And  cold  clammy  sweats  trickle  down  from  my  face: 

I  forgive  little  Fanny  this  bruise  on  my  side 

She' stopped,  gave  a  sigh,  and  a  struggle,  and  died. 


DAY. 

THE  sun  rises  bright  in  the  air, 
The  dews  of  the  morning  are  dry, 

Men  and  beasts  to  their  labours  repair,  < 
And  the  lark  wings  his  way  to  the  sky. 

Nor  fresh  from  his  moss  dappled  shed, 
The  husbandman  trudges  along.. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  / 

And  like  the  Jark  over  his  head, 
Begins  the  new  day  with  a  song. 

Just  now  all  around  was  so  still, 

Not  a  bird  drew  his  head  from  his  wing 
Not  an  echo  was  heard  from  the  hill, 

Nor  a  water-fly  dipt  in  the  spring; 
Now  every  thing  wakes  from  its  sleep, 

The  shepherd  boy  pipes  to  his  flock, 
The  common  is  speckled  with  sheep, 

And  cheerfully  clamours  the  cock. 

Now  winding  along  on  the  road, 

Half  hid  by  the  hedges  so  gay, 
The  wagon  drags  slow  with  its  load, 

And  its  bells  tinkle,  tinkle,  away. 
The  husbandman  follows  his  plough. 

Across  the  brown  fallow-field's  slope, 
And  toils  in  the  sweat  of  his  brow, 

Repaid  by  the  pleasures  of  hope. 
The  city  so  noisy  and  wide, 

Begins  to  look  smoky  and  gray ;  • 
Now  bus'ness,  and  pleasure  and  pride, 

March  each  in  a  different  way. 
My  lord,  and  my  lady  so  fair, 

The  merchant  with  dignified  look, 
And  all  to  their  bus'ness  repair, 

From  the  nobleman  down  to  his  cook. 

For  the  dews  of  the  morning  are  flown, 

And  the  sun  rises  bright  in  the  sky ; 
Alike  in  the  field  and  the  town, 

Men  and  beasts  to  their  labour  apply. 
Now  idle  no  hand  must  remain, 

Nor  eye  sink  in  slumber  so  dark, 
For  evening  is  coming  again, 

And  the  night,  in  which  no  man  can  work, 

And  what  is  our  life  but  a  day  1 
A  short  one  that  soon  will  be  o'er; 


74  ,  ORIGINAL    I'OBMS. 

Without  stopping  it  gallops  away, 
And  will  never  return  any  more ! 

Then  while  its  bright  beamings  we  have>. 
Let  us  keep  its  grand  bus'ness  in  view, 

Before  our  sun  sets  in  the  grave, 

Which  we  know  not  how  soon  it  may  dov 


NIGHT. 

No  longer  the  beautiful  day, 

Shines  over  the  landscape  so  light ; 
The  shadows  of  evening  gray 

Are  closed  in  the  darkness  of  night ; 
The  din  of  employment  is  o'er, 

Not  a  sound,  not  a  whisper  is  heard,. 
The  wagon  bell  tinkles  no  more, 

And  still  is  the  song  of  the  bird. 

The  landscape,  once  blooming  so  fair, 

With  a  garment  of  flowers  o'erspread; 
The  landscape  indeed  is  still  there, 

But  all  its  fair  colours  are  fled. 
.  The  sun,  sinking  under  the  hill, 

No  longer  shoots  bright  to  the  earth ; 
The  bustle  of  bus'ness  is  still, 

And  hushed  is  the  clamour  of  mirth. 

The  busy  hand,  busy  no  more, 

Is  sunk  from  its  labour  to  rest ; 
Closed  tight  every  window  and  door 

Where  once  the  gay  passengers  prest 
The  houses  of  frolic  and  fun, 

Are  empty,  and  dreary,  and  dark  ; 
The  din  of  the  coaches  is  done, 

And  the  tired  horse  rest  from  his  work. 

Just  such  is  the  season  of  death, 
Which  comes  upon  each  of  us  fast; 

The  bosom  can't  flutter  with  breath, 
When  life's  little  day-time  is  past 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

The  blood  freezes  cold  in  its  vein, 
The  heart  sinks  for  ever  to  rest ; 

Not  a  fancy  flits  over  the  brain, 

Nor  a  sigh  find  its  way  from  the  breast 

The  tongue  stiff  and  silent  is  grown, 

The  pale  lips  move  never  again  ; 
The  smile  and  the  dimple  are  flown, 

And  the  voice  doth  of  pleasure  and  pain. 
Clay  cold  the  once  feverish  head, 

The  bright  eye  is  sullen  and  dark ; 
For  death's  gloomy  shadows  have  spread 

That  night  in  which  no  man  can  work. 
But  as  from  the  stillness  and  gloom, 

Another  gay  morning  shall  rise, 
So,  bursting  awake  from  the  tomb, 

We  shall  mount  far  away  to  the  skies. 
And  those,  who  with  meekness  and  prayer, 

In  the  paths  of  religion  have  trod, 
Shall  worship  all  glorious  there, 

Among  the  arch-angels  of  God. 


DEAF  MARTHA. 

POOR  Martha  is  old,  and  her  hair  is  turned  gray, 
And  her  hearing  has  left  her  this  many  long  years^, 

Ten  to  one  if  she  knows  what  it  is  that  you  say; 
Tho'  she  puts  her  poor  withered  hand  close  to 
her  ear. 

I've  seen  naughty  children  run  after  her  fast,    ' 
And  cry,  "  Martha  run,  there's  a  bullock  so  bold  ;" 

And  when  she  was  frightened,  laugh  at  her  at  last, 
Because  she  believed  the  sad  stories  they  told. 

I've  seen  others  put  their  mouths  close  to  her  ear, 
And  make  signs,  as  if  they  had  something  to  say : 

And  when  she  said,  "  Master  I'm  deaf  and  can't  hear/1 
Point  at  her,  and  rnock  her,  and  scamper,  away. 


Ah !  wicked  the  children  poor  Martha  to  tease, 
As  if  she  had  not  enough  else  to  endure ; 

They  rather  should  try  her  affliction  to  ease, 
And  sooth  a  disorder  that  nothing  can  cure. 

One  day,  when  those  children  themselves  are  grown 

old, 

And  one  may  be  deaf,  and  another  be  lame : 
Perhaps  they  may  find  that  some  children  as  bold, 
May  tease  them,  and  mock  them,  and  serve  them 
the  same. 

Then,  when  they  reflect  on  the  days  of  their  youth* 
They'll  think  of  poor  Martha  and  all  that  they  said, 
And  remember,  with  shame  and  repentance,  the  truth, 
"  That  all  wicked  actions  are  surely  repaid." 


THE  PIN, 

"  DEAR  me,  what  signifies  a  pin, 
Wedged  in  a  ratten  board? 

I'm  certain  that  I  won't  begin 
At  ten  years  old,  to  hoard  ! 

I  never  will  be  called  a  miser, 

That  I'm  determined,'5  said  Eliza. 

So  onward  tript  the  little  maid. 

And  left  the  pin  behind, 
Which  very  snug1  and  quiet  laid, 

To  its  hard  fate  resigned : 
Nor  did  she  think  (a  careless  chit) 
'Twas  worth  her  while  to  stoop  for  it 

Next  day  a  party  was  to  ride, 

To  see  an  air  balloon  ; 
And  all  the  company  beside, 
.  Were  drest  and  ready  soon  ; 
But  she  a  woful  case  was  in, 
For  want  of  just  a  single  pin ! 


ORIGINAL   POLM-?,  77 

In  vain  her  eager  eye  she  brings 

To  every  darksome  crack, 
There  was  not  one !  and  all  her  things 

Were  dropping  off  her  back ; 
She  cut  her  pincushion  in  two, 
But  no  !  not  one  had  slidden  through,, 

At  last  as  hunting  on  the  floor, 

Over  a  crack  she  lay, 
The  carriage  rattled  to  the  door, 

Then  tattled  fast  away  ; 
But  poor  Eliza  was  not  in, 
For  want  of  just  a  single  pin?. 

There's  hardly  any  thing  so  small, 

So  trifling  or  so  mean, 
That  we  may  never  want  at  all, 

For  service  unforeseen. 
And  wilful  waste,  depend  upon't 
Is,  almost  always,  woful  want ! 


THE  LITTLE  BIRD'S  COMPLAINT  TO  HIS 

MISTRESS.         ' 
HERE,  in  the  wiry  prison,  where  I  sing, 

And  thintf  of  sVveet  green  woods,  and  long  to  fly; 
Unable  once  to  stretch  my  feeble  wing, 
Or  wave  my  feathers  in  the  clear  blue  sky. 

Day  after  day  the  selfsame  things  I  see, 

The  cold  white  ceiling,  and  this  wiry  house, 
Ah  !  how  unlike  my  healthy  native  tree, 

Rocked  by  the  winds  that  whistled  through  the 

bough*. 
Mild  spring  returning,  strews  the  ground  with  flowers. 

And  hangs  sweet  May-buds  on  the  hedges  gay ; 
But  no  wann  sunshine  cheers  my  gloomy  hours,    ' 

Nor  kind  companion  twitters  on  the  spray  ! 

Oh  !  how  I  long  to  stretch  my  -weary  wings, 
And  fly  away  as  far  as  eye  can  see : 


7S  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

And  from  the  topmost  bough  where  Robin  sings, 
Pour  my  wild  songs,  and  be  as  blithe  as  he. 

Why  was  I  taken  from  my  waving  nest, 

From   flowery  fields,    wide   woods,  and  hedges 
green  1 

Torn  from  my  tender  mother's  downy  breast, 
In  this  sad  prison-house  to  die  unseen ! 

Why  must  I  here,  in  summer  evenings  fine, 
A  thousand  happier  birds  in  merry  choirs'? 

And  I,  poor  lonely  I,  forbid  to  join, 

Caged  by  these  wooden  walls  and  golden  wires'! 

Kind  mistress  come,  with  gentle,  pitying  hand, 
Unbar  my  prison  door,  and  set  me  free ; 

Then  on  the  white-thorn  bush  I'll  take  my  stand, 
And  sing  sweet  songs  to  freedom  and  to  thee. 


THE  MISTRESS'S  REPLY  TO  HER  LITTLE 

BIRD 
DEAR  little  bird,  don't  make  this  piteous  cry; 

My  heart  will  break  to  hear  thee  thus  complain  i 
Gladly,  dear  little  bird,  I'd  let  the  fly, 

If  that  were  likely  to  relieve  thy  pain. 

Sad  was  the  boy  who  climb'd  the  tree  so  high, 
And  took  thee  bare  and  shiv'ring  from  thy  nest ; 

But  know,  dear  little  bird,  it  was  not  I, 

There's  more  of  soft  compassion  in  my  breast. 

But  when  I  saw  thee  gasping  wide  for  breatn, 
Without  one  feather  on  thy  callow  skin, 

,1  begged  the  cruel  boy  to  spare  thy  death, 
Paid  for  thy  little  life,  and  took  thee  in. 

Fondly  I  fed  thee,  with  the  tenderest  care, 
,  And  filled  thy  gaping  beak  with  nicest  food ; 
Gave  thee  new  bread  and  butter  from  my  share, 
And   then   with   chick-wreed  green  thy  dwelling 
strewed. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  ?5i 

Soon  downy  feathers  drest  thy  naked  wing, 
Smoothed  by  thy  little  beak  with  beauish  care ; 

And  many  a  summer's  evening  wouldst  thou  sing, 
And  hop  from  perch  to  perch  with  merry  air. 

But  if  I  now  should  loose  thy  prison  door, 
And  let  thee  out  into  the  world  so  wide — 

Unused  to  such  a  wondrous  place  before, 

Thou'dst  want  some  friendly  shelter  where  to  hide. 

Thy  brother  birds  would  peck  thy  little  eyes, 
And  fight  the  stranger  from  their  woods  away ; 

Fierce  hawks  would  chase  thee  trembling  thfo'  the 

skies, 
Or  crouching  pussy  mark  thee  for  her  prey. 

Sad  on  the  lonely  black-thorn,  wouldst  thou  sit, 
Thy  mournful  song  unpitied  and  unheard ; 

And  when  the  wintry  wind  and  driving  sleet, 
Came  sweeping  o'er,  they'd  kill  my  pretty  bird 

Then  do  not  pine,  my  favourite,  to  be  free: 
Plume  up  thy  wings,  and  clear  that  sullen  eye; 

I  would  not  take  thee  from  thy  native  tree ; 
But  now  t' would  kill  thee  soon  to  let  thee  fly. 


THE  TRUE  HI  STORY  OF  A  POOR  LITTLE  MOUSE, 
A  POOR  little  mouse  had  once  made  him  a  nest, 
As  he  fancied,  the  warmest,  and  safest,  and  best 

That  a  poor  little  mouse  could  enjoy ; 
So  snug,  so  convenient,  so  out  of  the  way, 
This  poor  little  mouse  and  his  family  lay, 

They  feared  neither  pussy  nor  boy. 

It  was  in  a  stove,  that  was  seldom  in  use, 

Where  shavings  and  papers  wear  scattered  in  looser 

That  this  poor  little  mouse  made  his  hole ; 
But  alas  !  Master  Johnny  had  seen  him  one  day, 
As  in  a  great  fright  he  had  scampere'd  away* 

With  a  piece  of  plum-pudding  he  stole. 


80  GIUGJN.Vi,    POEMS. 

As  soon  as  young  Jonny  (who,  wicked  and  bad, 
No  pitiful  thoughts  for  dumb  animals  had) 

Descried  the  poor  fellow's  retreat, 
He  crept  to  the  shavings  and  set  them  alight, 
And  before  the  poor  mouse  could  run  off  in  its  fright, 

It  was  scalded  to  death  in  the  heat. 

Poor  mouse,  ho\v  it  squeak'd  I  cant  bear  to  relate, 
Nor  how  its  poor  little  ones  hopp'd  in  the  grate, 

And  died,  one  by  one,  in  the  flame! 
I  should  not  much  wonder  to  hear  that  one  night 
This  wicked  boy's  bed  curtains  catching  alight, 

He  suffer'd  exactly  the  same. 

THE  CHATTER  BOX. 

FROM  morning  till  night  it  was  Lucy's  delight 
To  chatter  and  talk  without  stopping; 

There  was  not  a  day  but  she  rattled  away, 
Like  water  for  ever  a  dropping  ! 

As  soon  as  she  rose  while  she  put  on  her  clothes, 
'Twas  vain  to  endeavour  to  still  her; 

Nor  once  did  she  lack  to  continue  her  clack, 
Till  again  she  laid  down  on  her  pillow. 

You'll  think  now  perhaps,  that  there  would  have  been 
gaps, 

If  she  had  not  been  wonderful  clever  ; 
That  her  sense  was  so  great,  and  so  witty  her  pate. 

That  it  would  be  forth  coming  for  aver. 

But  that's  quite  absurd  ;  for  have  you  not  heard, 
That  much  tongue  and  few  brains  are  connected'! 

That  they  arc  supposed  to  think  least  who  talk  most, 
And  their  wisdom  is  always  suspected  ? 

While  Lucy  was  young,  if  she'd  bridled  her  tongue, 
With  a  little  good  sense  and  exertion, 

Who  knows  but  she  might,  now  have  been  our  delight, 
Instead  of  our  jest  and  aversion  ? 


OlilrjtNAL  POEMS.  81 

THE  SNOW  DROP. 
I  SAW  a  snow-drop  on  the  bed, 

Green  taper  leaves  among  ; 
Whiter  than  driven  snow,  its  head 

On  the  siim  stalk  was  hung. 

The  wintry  wind  came  sweeping  o'er» 
1  A  bitter  tempest  blew ; 
The  snow-drop  faded — never  more 
To  glitter  with  the  dew. 

I  saw  a  smiling  infant,  laid 

In  its  fond  mother's  arms : 
Around  its  rosy  cheek  there  play'd 

A  thousand  dimpling  charms. 

A  bitter  pain  was  sent  to  take 

The  smiling  babe  away; 
How  did  its  little  bosom  shake, 

As  in  a  fit  it  lay  ! 

Its  beating  heart  was  quickly  stopped  ;  - 

And  in  the  earth  so  cold, 
I  saw  the  little  coffin  dropped, 

And  covered  up  with  mould. 

Dear  little  children,  who  may  read 

This  mournful  story  through, 
Remember  death  may  come  with  speed,  • 

And  bitter  pains  for  you. 


THE  YELLOW  LEAF. 
I  SAW  a  leaf  come  tilting  down, 

From  a  bare  withered  bough  ; 
The  leaf  was  dead,  the  branch  was  brown* 

No  fruit  was  left  it  now. 

4  But  much  the  rattling  tempest  blew, 

The  naked  boughs  among ; 
And  here  and  there,  came  whirling  through, 
A  leaf  that  loosely  hung. 


ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

This  leaf  they  tell  me  once  was  green, 
Washed  by  the  showers  soft  ; 

High  on  the  topmost  bough  was  seen, 
And  flourished  up  aloft. 

I  saw  an  old  man  totter  slow, 
Wrinkled,  and  weak  and  gray  ; 

He'd  hardly  strength  enough  to  go 
Ever  so  short  a  way. 

His  ear  was  deaf,  his  eyes  was  dim, 

He  leaned  on  crutches  high, 
But  while  I  staid  to  pity  him, 

I  saw  him  gasp  and  die. 
This  poor  old  man,  was  once  as  gay 

As  rosy  health  could  be ; 
Yes,  and  the  youngest  head  must  lay 

Ere  long,  as  low  as  he  ! 


POOR  POMPEY'S  COMPLAINT. 

STRETCHED  out  on  a  dunghill,  all  covered  with  snow, 
While  round  him  blew  many  a  pitiless  blast ; 

His  breath  short  and  painful,  his  pulse  beating  low, 
Poor  honest  old  Pompey  lay  breathing  his  last. 

Bleak  whistled  the  wind,  and  loud  bellowed  the  storm, 
Cold  pelted  upon  him  the  half  frozen  rain  ;    - 

And  amid  the  convulsions  that  shattered  his  form, 
Thus  honest  old  Pompey  was  heard  to  complain : 

"  Full  many  a  winter  I've  weatherd  the  blast, 

And  plunged  for  my  master  through  brier  or  bog ; 

And  in  my  old  age,  when  my  vigour  is  past, 
'Tis  cruel,  I  think,  to  forsake  his  poor  dog^ 

"I've  guarded  his  dwelling  by  day  and  by  night. 

Impatient  the  roost-robbing  gipsy  to  spy, 
And  the  roost-robbing  gipsy  turned  pale  with  affright, 

When  the  flash  of  resentment  shot  fierce  from  my 
eye. 


ORIGINAL  I'OEMS.  83 

"  On  the  heath  and  the  mountain  I've  followed  his 
flocks, 

And  kept  them  secure  whilst  he  slept  in  the  sun ; 
Defended  them  safe  from  the  blood-thirsty  fox, 

And  asked  but  a  bone  when  my  labour  was  done, 

"  When  he  worked  in  the  corn-field,  with  brawny 
hot  back, 

I  watched  by  his  waistcoat 'beneath  the  tall  tree  ; 
And  wo  to  the  robber  that  dared  to  attack, 

The  charge  that  iny  master  committed  to  me. 

"  When  jogging  from  market  with  bags  full  of  gold, 
No  moon  to  enliven  his  perilous  way ; 

Nor  star  twinkling  bright  through  the  atmosphere 

cold, 
'Twas  I  kept  the  slow  creeping  robber  at  bay. 

"  One  night,  when  with  cold   overcome  and  opprcst, 
He  sunk  by  the  way  side,  benumbed  in  the  snow, 

I  stretched  my  warm  belly  along  on  his  breast, 
And  moaned  to  let  kind-hearted  passengers  know. 

"  Yes — long  have  I  served  him  with  courage  and  zeal, 
Till  my  shaking  old  bones  are  grown  brittle  and 

dry, 

And  'tis  an  unkindness  I  bitterly  feel, 
,To  be  turned' out  of  doors  on  a  dunghill  to  die  ! 

"  I  crawled  to  the  kitchen  with  pitiful  moan , 

And  showed  my  poor  ribs  that  were  cutting  my 
skin ; 

And  looked  at  my  master  and  begged  for  a  bone ; 
But  he  said  I  was  dirty  and  must  not  come  in ! 

"  But  'tis  the  last  struggle !  my  sorrows  are  o'er,  . 

'Tis  death's  clammy  hand  that  is  glazing  my  eye; 
The  keen  gripe  of  hunger  shall  pinch  me  no  more, 

Nor  hard-hearted  master  be  deaf  to  my  cry !"  ANN. 


84  ORIGINAL 

THE  POND. 

THERE  was  a  round  pond,  and  a  pretty  pond  too, 
About  it  white  daisies  and  butter  flowers  grew, 
And  dark  weeping  willows,  that  stooped  to  the  ground,, 
Dipped  in  their  long  branches  and  shaded  it  round. 

A  party  of  Ducks  to  this  pond  would  repair, 

To  feast  on  the  green  water- weeds  that  grew  there  : 

Indeed,  the  assembly  would  frequently  meet 

To  talk  o'er  affairs  in  this  pleasant  retreat. 

Now  the  subject  on  which  they  were  wont  to  con  verse, 
I'm  sorry  I  cannot  include  in  my  verse ; 
For  though  I've  oft  listened  in  hopes  of  discerning, 
I  own  'tis  a  matter  that  baffles  my  learning. 
One  day,  a  young  chicken,  who  lived  thereabout, 
Stood 'watching  to  see  the  ducks  pass  in  and  out ; 
Now  standing  tail  upwards,  now  diving  below, 
She  thought  of  all  things  she  would  like  to  do  so. 

So  this  foolish  chicken  bepan  to  declare, 
<4  I've  really  a  great  mind'to  venture  in  there ; 
My  mother  oft  told  me  I  must  not  go  nigh, 
But  really,  for  my  part,  I  cannot  tell  why. 

*' Ducks  have  wings  and  feathers,  and  so  have  I  too, 
And  my  feet— what's  the  reason  that  they  will  not  do) 
Though  my  beak  it  is  pointed,  and  their  beaks  are 

round, 
Is  that  any  reason  that  I  should  be  drown'd  1 

"  So  why  should  I  not  swim  as  well  as  a  duck? 
Suppose,  then,  I  venture  and  e'en  try  my  luck ; 
For,"  said  she  (spite  of  all  that  her  mother  had  taught 

her) 

"I'm  really  remarkably  fond  of  the  water." 
So  in  this  poor  ignorant  animal  flew, 
And  soon  found  her  dear  mother's  cautions  were  true, 
She  splashed,  and  she  dashed,  and  she  turned  herself 

round, 
And  heartily  wished  herself  safe  on  the  ground. 


THE  POND. 


"So  why  should  I  not  swim  as  well  as  a  duck?  A. 
Suppose,  then,  I  venture  and  e'en  try  my  luck  ; 
For,"  said  she  (spite  of  all  that  her  mother  had  taught  her) 
"  I'm  really  remarkably  fond  of  the  water," 


^^ 


ORIGINAL  I-uEMri,  85, 

But  now  'twas  too  late  to  begin  to  repent, 
The  harder  she  struggled  the  deeper  she  went ; 
And  when  every  effort  she  vainly  had  tried, 
She  slowly  sunk  down  to  the  bottom,  and  died! 

The  ducks,  I  perceived,  began  loudly  to  quack, 
When  they  saw  the  poor  fowl  floating  dead  on  its 

back, 

And  by  their  grave  looks,  it  was  very  apparent, 
They  discoursed  on  the  sin  of  not  minding  a  parent, 


THE  ENGLISH  GIRL. 

SPORTING  on  the  village  green, 
The  pretty  English  girl  is  seen  ; 
Or  beside  the  cottage  neat, 
Knitting  on  the  garden  seat. 

Now  within  her  humble  door, 
Sweeping  clean  the  kitchen  floor, 
Where  upon  the  wall  so  white, 
Hang  her  coppers  polished  bright. 

Mary  never  idle  sits, 
She  either  sews,  or  spins,  or  knits, 
Hard  she  labours  all  the  week, 
With  sparkling  eye,  and  rosy  cheek, 

And  on  Sunday  Mary  goes, 
Neatly  dress'd  in  decent  clothes, 
Says  her  prayers,  (a  constant  rule,) 
And  hastens  to  the  Sunday  school. 

O  how  good  should  we  be  found, 
Who  live  on  England's  happy  ground ! 
Where  rich  and  poor,  and  wretched,  may 
All  learn  to  walk  in  wisdom's  way. 

THE  SCOTCH  LADDIE.      ^ 

COLD  blows  the  north  wind  o'er  the  mountains  so  bare, 
foor  Sawny  benighted  is  travelling  there ;   . 

8 


86  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

His  plaid-cloak  around  him  he  carefully  binds, 
And  holds  on  his  bonnet,  that's  blown  by  the  winds. 

Long  time  has  he  wandered  his  desolate  way, 
That  wound  him  along  by  the  banks  of  the  Tay ; 
Now  o'eu  this  cold  mountain  poor  Sawny  must  roam, 
Before  he  arrives  at  his  little  dear  home. 

Barefooted  he  follows  the  path  he  must  go, 
The  print  of  his  footsteps  he  leaves  in  the  snow  ; 
And  while  the  white  sleet  patters  cold  on  his  face, 
He  thinks  of  his  home,  and  he  quickens  his  pace. 

But  see  from  afar  he  discovers  a  light, 

That  cheerfully  gleams  on  the  darkness  of  night ; 

And  O,  what  delights  in  his  bosom  arise  ! 

He  knows  'tis  his  dear  little  home  that  he  spies. 

And  now,  when  arrived  at  his  father's  own  door, 
His  fears,  his  fatigues,  and  his  dangers  are  o'er; 
His  brothers  and  sisters  press  round  with  delight, 
And  welcome  him  in  from  the  storms  of  the  night. 

For  in  vain  from  the  north  the  keen  winter  winds 

blow, 

In  vain  are  the  mountain  tops  covered  with  snow ; 
The  cold  of  his  country  can  never  control, 
The  affection  that  glows  in  a  Highlander's  soul. 


THE  WELCH  LAD. 

OVER  the  mountain  and  over  the  rock, 
Wanders  young  Taffy  to  follow  his  flock, 
While  far  above  him  he  sees  the  wild  goats, 
Gallop  about  in  their  shaggy  warm  coats. 

Sometimes  they  travel  in  frolicksome  crowds, 

To  the  mountain's  high  top  that  is  lost  in  the  clouds ; 

Then  they  descend  to  the  valley  again, 

Or  scale  the  black  rocks  that  hang  over  the  main, 

Now  when  young  Taffy's  day's  labour  is  o'er, 
He  cheerfully  sits  at  his  own  culture  door; 


B7 

While  all  his  brothers  and  sisters  around, 

Sit  in  a  circle  upon  the  bare  ground. 

Then  their  good  father,  with  spectacled  nose, 

Reads  the  Bible  aloud,  ere  he  takes  his  repose ; 

While  the  pale  moon  rises  over  the  hill, 

And  the  birds  are  asleep  and  all  nature  is  still. 

Now  with  his  harp  old  Llewellyn  is  seen, 

And  joins  the  gay  party  that  sits  on  the  green  ; 

He  leans  in  the  door-way,  and  plays  them  a  tune, 

And  the  children  all  dance  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

How  often  the  wretch,  in  a  city  so  gay, 
Where  pleasure  and  luxury  follow  his  way, 
When  health  quite  forsakes  him,  and  cheerfulness  fails, 
Might  envy  a  lad  on  the  mountains  of  Wales  ! 


IRISH  BOY. 

YOUNG  Paddy  is  merry  and  happy,  but  poor, 
His  cabin  is  built  in  the  midst  of  the  moor ; 
No  pretty  green  meadows  about  it  are  found, 
But  bogs  in  the  middle  and  mountains  around. 

This  wild  Irish  lad,  of  all  lads  the  most  frisky, 
Enjoys  his  spare  meal  of  potatoes  and  whiskey, 
As  he  merrily  sits,  with  no  care  on  his  mind, 
At  the  door  of  his  cabin  and  sings  to  the  wind. 

Close  down  at  his  feet  lies  his  shaggy  old  dog, 
Who  has  plunged  with  his  master  through  many  a  bog, 
While  Paddy  sings  "Liberty  long  shall  reign  o'er  us" 
Shag  catches  his  ardour,  and  barks  a  loud  chorus. 

Young  Paddy  indeed,  is  not  polished  or  mild, 
But  his  soul  is  as  free  as  his  country  is  wild ; ' 
And  though  unacquainted  with  fashion  or  dress, 
His  heart  ever  melts  at  the  sound  of  distress. 

Then  let  us  not  laugh  at  his  bulls  and  his  blunders, 
His  broad  native  brogue,  or  his  ignorant  wonders; 
Nor  will  we  by  ridicule  ever  destroy, 
The  honest  content  of  a  wild  Irish  boy. 


88  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

And  thus  while  I  sing  of  the  wild  Irish  lad, 

'The  Welch  boy,  the  Scotch,  with  his  waistcoat  of  plaid, 

I  earnestly  pray  that  I  never  may  roam, 

From  England,  dear  England,  my  own  native  home* 

GREEDY  RICHARD. 

•"  I  THINK  I  want  some  pies  this  morning," 
Said  Dick,  stretching  himself  and  yawning  ; 
So  down  he  threw  his  slate  and  books, 
And  sauntered  to  the  pastry  cook's. 

And  there  he  cast  his  greedy-  eyes, 
Round  on  the  jellies  and  the  pies, 
So  to  select  with  anxious  care, 
The  very  nicest  that  was  there. 

At  last  the  point  was  thus  decided, 
As  his  opinion  was  divided,  * 

'Tvvixt  pie  and  jelly,  he  was  loath 
Either  to  leave,  so  took  them  both. 

Now  Richard  never  could  be  pleased 
^To  eat  till  hunger  was  appeased  ; 
But  he'd  go  on  to  cram  and  stuff 
Long  after  he  had  got  enough. 

"  I  sha'nt  take  any  more,"  said  Dick, 
'"  Dear  me  I  feel  extremely  sick ; 
I  cannot  eat  this  other  bit ; 
I  wish  I  had  not  tasted  it." 

'Then  slowly  rising  from  his  seat, 
He  threw  the  cheese-cakes  in  the  street, 
And  left  the  tempting  pastry  cook's 
With  very  discontented  looks. 

Just  then  a  man  with  wooden  leg 
Met  Dick,  and  held  his  hat  to  beg ; 
And  while  he  told  his  mournful  case, 
Looked  at  him  with  imploring  face. 


ORIGINAL    FOE.MS.  89 

Dick  wishing  to  relieve  his  pain, 

His  pockets  searched,  but  searched  in  vain  ; 

And  so  at  last  he  did  declare 

He  had  not  got  a  farthing  there. 

The  beggar  turned  with  face  of  grief, 
And  look  of  patient  unbelief. 
While  Richard  now  completely  tamed, 
Felt  inconceivably  ashamed. 

"  I  wish,"  said  he  (but  wishing's  vain,) 
"I'd  got  my  money  back  again, 
And  had  not  spent  my  last  to  pay 
For  what  I  only  threw  away. 

'<  Another  time  I'll  take  advice, 

And  not  buy  things  because  they're  nice  ! 

B;it  rather  save  my  little  store 

To  give  poor  folks,  who  want  it  more." 


DIRTY  JCAK. 

THERE  was  one  little  Jack ! 

Not  very  long  back, 
And  'tis  said,  to  his  lasting  disgrace, 

That  he  never  was  seen, 

With  his  hands  at  all  clean, 
Nor  yet  ever  clean  was  his  face. 

His  friends  were  much  hurt, 

To  see  so  much  dirt, 
And  often  and  well  did  they  scour, 

But  all  was  in  vain, 

He  was  dirty  again, 
Before  they  had  done  it  an  hour. 

When  to  wash  he  was-  sent, 

Ke  reluctantly  went, 
With  water  to  splash  himself  o'er; 

But  he  left  the  black  streaks 

All  over  his  cheeks, 

And  made  them  look  worse  than  before. 
8* 


90  ORIGINAL    POEM?. 

The  pigs  in  the  dirt, 

Could  not  be  more  expert, 
Then  he  was,  at  grubbing  about : 

And  people  have  thought, 

This  gentleman  ought, 
To  be  made  with  four  legs  and  a  snout. 

The  idle  and  bad, 

May  like  to  this  lad, 
Be  dirty,  and  black  to  be  sure ; 

But  good  boys  are  seen, 

To  be  decent  and  clean, 
Although  they  are  ever  so  poor. 


THE  FARM. 

BRIGHT  glows  the  east  with  blushing  red, 
While  yet  upon  their  wholesome  bed, 

The  sleeping  lab'rers  rest ; 
And  the  pale  moon  and  silver  star, 
Grow  paler  still,  and  wand'ring  far, 

Sink  slowly  to  the  west. 

And  see  behind  the  sloping  hill, 

The  morning  clouds  grow  brighter  still, 

And  all  the  shades  retire, 
Slowly  the  sun  with  golden  ray, 
Breaks  forth  above  the  horizon  grey, 

And  gilds  the  distant  spire. 

And  now  at  nature's  cheerful  voice, 
The  hills  and  vales,  and  woods  rejoice, 

The  lark  ascends  the  skies  ; 
And  soon  the  cock's  shrill  notes  alarm, 
The  sleeping  people  at  the  farm, 

And  bid  them  all  arise. 

Then  to  the  dairy's  cool  retreat, 

The  busy  maids  together  meet, 

The  careful  mistress  sees ; 


Some  tend  with  skilful  hand  the  churns, 
Where  the  quick  cream  to  butter  turns, 
And  some  the  curdling  cheese. 

And  now  comes  Thomas  from  the  house, 
With  well  known  cry  to  call  the  cows, 

Still  sleeping  on  the  plain  ; 
They,  quickly  rising,  one  and  all, 
Obedient  to  the  daily  call, 

Wind  slowly  through  the  lane. 

And  see  the  rosy  milk-maid  now, 
Seated  beside  the  horned  cow, 
With  milking  stool  and  pail ; 
The  patient  cow.  with  dappled  hide, 
Stands  still,  unless  to  lash  her  side 
With  her  convenient  tail. 
And  then  the  poultry  (Mary's  charge) 
Must  all  be  fed  and  let  at  large, 

To  roam  about  again ; 
Wide  open  swings  the  great  barn  door. 
And  out  the  hungry  creatures  pour, 

To  pick  up  the  scattered  grain. 
Forth  plodding  to  the-heavy  plough, 
The  sun-burnt  lab'rer  hastens  now, 

To  gide  with  skillful  arm  ; 
'Thus  all  is  industry  around  ; 
,No  idle  hand  is  ever  found, 
Within  the  busy  farm. 

READING. 

"  AND  so  you  do  not  like  to  spell. 
Mary,  my  dear ;  O  very  well ; 
'Tis  dull  and  troublesome,  you  say, 
And  you  had  rather  be  at  play. 

"  Then  bring  me  all  your  books  again  : 
Nay,  Mary  why  do  you  complain  1 
For  as  you  do  not  choose  to  read, 
You  shall  not  have  your  books,  indeed. 


ORIGINAL   POEM3. 

•"  So,  as  you  wish  to  be  a  dunce, 
Pray  go  and  fetch  me  them  at  once; 
For  as  you  will  not  learn  to  spell, 
'Tis  vain  to  think  of  reading  well. 

"Now  don't  you  think,  you'll  blush  to  own, 
When  you  become  a  women  grown, 
Without  one  good  excuse  to  plead, 
That  you  have  never  learnt  to  read  ?" 

'  O  dear  mamma,"  (saicl  Mary  then) 
•*'  Do  let  me  have  my  books  again  ; 
I'll  not  fret  any  more  indeed, 
If  you  will  let  me  learn  to  read." 


IDLENESS. 

SOME  people  complain  they  have  nothing  to  do, 

And  time  passes  slowly  away  ; 
They  saunter  about  with  no  object  in  view, 

And  long  for  the  end  of  the  day. 

In  vain  are  their  riches,  or  honours,  or  birth, 

They  nothing  can  truly  enjoy  ; 
They're  the  wretchedest  creature  that  live  on  the  earth 

For  want  of  some  pleasing  employ. 

When  people  have  no  need  to  work  for  their  bread, 

And  indolent  always  have  been, 
It  never  so  much  as  comes  into  their  head, 

That  wasting  their  time  is  a  sin. 

But  man  was  created  for  useful  employ, 

From  earth's  first  creation  till  now, 
And  'tis  good  for  his  health,  and  his  comfort,  and  joy, 

To  live  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 

And  those  who  of  riches  are  fully  possest, 

Are  not  for  that  -reason  exempt, 
If  they  give  themselves  up  to  an  indolent  rest, 

They  are  objects  of  real  contempt. 


93 

The  pleasure  that  constant  employments  create, 

By  them  cannot  be  understood  ; 
And  though  they  may  rank  with  the  rich  and  the  great) 

Thc»y  never  can  rank  with  the  good. 


THE  GOOD  NATURED  GIRLS.       \, 

Two  good  little  girls,  Marianne  and  Maria, 

As  happily  lived  as  good  girls  could  desire : 

And  though  they  were  neither  grave,  sullen,  nor  mute, 

They  seldom  or  never  were  heard  to  dispute. 

If  one  wants  a  thing  that  the  other  could  get, 
They  don't  go  to  scratching  and  righting  for  it ; 
But  each  one  is  willing  to  give  up  her  right, 
For  they'd  rather  have  nothing  than  quarrel  and  fight. 

If  one  of  them  happens  to  have  something  nice, 
Directly  she  offers  her  sister  a  slice  ; 
And  not  like  to  some  greedy  children  I've  known, 
Who  would  go  in  a  corner  to  eat  it  alone. 

When  papa  or  mamma  had  a  job  to  be  done, 
These  good  little  girls  would  immediately  run, 
And  not  stand  disputing  to-which  it  belonged, 
And   grumble    and   fret,    and    declare    they    were 

wronged. 

Whatever  occurred,  in  their  work  or  their  play, 
They  were  willing  to  yield  and  give  up  their  own 

way; 

Then  let  us  all  try  their  example  to  mind, 
And  always,  like  them,  be  obliging  and  kind. 


MISCHIEF. 

LET  those  who're  fond  of  idle  tricks, 
Of  thro  wing  stones  and  breaking  bricks, 

And  all  that  sort  of  fun, 
Now  hear  a  tale  of  idle  Jim, 
That  they  may  warning  take  by  him, 

Nor  do  as  he  has  done. 


S4  GfUGlNAL    POEMS. 

In  harmless  sport  or  healthful  play, 
He  never  past  his  time  away, 

He  took  no  pleasure  in  it ; 
For  mischief  was  his  only  joy, 
Nor  book,  nor  work,  nor  even  toy, 

Could  please  him  for  a  minute. 

A  neighbour's  house  he'd  slily  pass, 
And  throw  a  stone  to  break  the  glass, 

And  then  enjoy  the  joke ; 
Or  if  a  window  open  stood, 
He'd  throw  in  stones,  or  bits  of  wood, 

To  frighten  all  the  folk. 

If  travellers  passing  chanced  to  stray, 
Of  idle  Jim  to  ask  the  way, 

He  never  told  them  right : 
And  then,  quite  harden'd  in  his  sin, 
Rejoice  to  see  them  taken  in, 

And  laugh  with  all  his  might. 

He'd  tie  a  string  across  the  street, 
So  to  entangle  people's  feet, 

And  make  them  tumble  down  ; 
Indeed,  he  was  dislik'd  so  much, 
'That  no  good  boy  would  play  with  such 

A  nuisance  to  the  town. 

At  last  the  neighbours,  in  despair, 
Could  all  these  tricks  no  longer  bear, 

In  short  (to  end  the  tale) 
The  lad  was  cured  of  all  his  ways 
One  time,  by  spending  a  few  days 

Inside  the  county  jail. 


THE  SPIDER. 

4'  O  LOOK  at  that  great  ugly  spider,"  said  Ann, 
And  screaming,  she  knocked  it  away  with  her  fan 
M  'Tis  a  great  ugly  creature,  as  ever  can  be, 
I  wish  that  it  would  not  come  crawling  on  me, 


OK1GTNAL    POEAI3.  95 

»:  Indeed."  said  her  mother, "  I'll  venture  to  say, 
'Twill  take  care  next  time  not  to  come  in  your  way, 
For  after  the  fright  and  the  fall  and  the  pain, 
I'm  sure  it  has  much  the  most  cause  to  complain. 

"Now  why  should  you  hurt  the  poor  insect,  my  dear  T 
If  it  hurt  you  there'd  be  some  excuse  for  your  fear; 
But  if  it  had  known  where  it  was  going  to, 
'T would  have  hurried  away  and  not  crawled  upon 

you. 

"For  them  to  fear  us,  is  but  natural  and  just, 
Who  in  less  than  a  moment  could  tread  them  to  dust ; 
But  certainly  we  have  no  cause  for  alarm, 
For  if  they  should  try,  they  could  do  us  no  harm. 

"  Now  look,  it  has  got  to  its  home  do  you  see, 
What  a  fine  curious  web  it  has  wove  in  the  tree  ; 
Now  this,  my  dear  Ann,  is  a  lesson  for  you : 
Only  see  what  industry  and  patience  can  do. 

"  So,  when  at  your  business  you  idle  and  play, 
Recollect  what  you've  seen  of  this  insect  today 
For  fear  it  should  even  be  found  to  be  true, 
That  a  poor  little  spider  is  better  than  you." 


THE  COW  AND  THE  ASS. 
HARD  by  a  green  meadow  a  stream  used  to  flow, 
So  clear  one  might  see  the  white  pebbles  below  ; 
To  this  cooling  stream  the  warm  cattle  would  stray, 
To  stand  in  the  shade  on  a  hot  summer's  day. 

A  cow  quite  oppressed  with  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
Came  here  to  refresh  as  she  often  had  done  ; 
And  standing  stock  still,  leaning  over  the  stream, 
Was  musing  perhaps,  or  perhaps  she  might  dream. 

But  soon  a  brown  ass,  of  respectable  look, 
Came  trotting  up  also  to  taste  of  the  brook, 
And  to  nibble  a  few  of  the  daisies  and  grass  , 
"How  d'  ye  do?"  said  the  cow,  "how  d'  ye  do  ?" 
said  the  ass. 


'JO  ORIGINAL  1'OElMrf. 

"  Take  a  seat,'5  cried  the  cow,  gently  waving  her  hand,, 
"By  no  means,  dear  madam,  "  said  he,  "  while  you 

stand  ;" 

Then  stooping  to  drink  with  a  complaisant  bow, 
«*  Ma'am  your  health,"  said  the  ass, — "  thank  you  sir," 

said  the  cow. 

When  a  few  of  these  compliments  more  had  been  past, 
They  laid  themselves  down  on  the  herbage  at  last ; 
And  waiting  politely  (as  gentlemen  must) 
The  ass  held  his  tongue  that  the  cow  might  speak 
first. 

Then  with  a  deep  sigh  she  directly  began, 
"  Don't  you  think,  Mr,  Ass.  we  are  injured  by  man  I 
'Tis  a  subject  that  lays  with  a  weight  on  my  mind  ; 
We  certainly  are  much  oppressed  by  mankind. 

Now  what  is  the  reason*  (I  see  none  at  ail) 

That  1  always  must  go  when  Suke  chooses  to  call] 

Whatever  I'm  doing  ('tis  certainly  hard) 

At  once  I  must  go  and  be  milked  in  the  yard. 

"  I've  no  will  of  my  own,  but  must  do  as  they  please, 
And  give  them  my  milk  to  make  butter  and  cheese ; 
I've  often  a  vast  mind  to  knock  down  the  pail, 
Or  give  Suke  a  box  of  the  ears  with  my  tail." 

"  But  ma'am"  said  the  ass,  "  not  presuming  to  teach  — 

0  dear,  I  beg  pardon, — pray  finish  your  speech: 

1  thought  you  had  done  ma'am  indeed,  (said  the  swain), 
Go  on,  and  I'll  not  interrupt  you  again," 

"  Why  sir,  I  was  only  a  going  to  observe, 

I'm  resolved  that  these  tyrants  no  longer  I'll  serve ; 

But  leave  them  for  ever  to  do  as  they  please, 

And  look  somewhere  else  for  their  butter  and  cheese."* 

Ass  waited  a  moment  to  see  if  she'd  done, 
And  then,  "  not  presuming  to  teach" — he  begun — 
'*  With  submission,  dear  madam,  to  your  better  wit., 
!  own  I  am  not  quite  convinced  by  it  yet. 


ORIGINAL  POEMS. 


97 


4i  That  you  are  of  great  service  to  them  is  quite  true ; 
But  surely  they  are  of  some  service  to  you: 
Tis  their  nice  green  meadows  in  which  you  regale, 
They  feed  you  in  winter  when  grass  and  weeds  fail. 

*'  'Tis  under  their  shelter  you  snugly  repose, 
When  without  it,  dear  ma'am,  you  perhaps  might  be 

froze 

For  my  own  part,  I  know  I  receive  much  from  man, 
And  for  him,  in  return,  I  do  all  that  I  can." 

The  cow  upon  this  cast  her  eyes  on  the  grass. 
Not  pleased  at  thus  being  reproved  by  an  ass  ; 
Yet,  thought  she,  I'm  determined  I'll  benefit  by't, 
For  1  really  believe  that  the  fellow  is  right. — Jane. 

THE  BLIND  SAILOR. 

A  SAILOR  with  a  wooden  leg, 

A  little  charity  implores ; 
He  holds  his  tattered  hat  to  beg, 

Come,  Jet  us  join  our  little  stores. 
Poor  Sailor !  we  ourselves  might  be 
As  wretched  and  as  poor  as  thee. 

»A  thousand  thanks,  my  lady  kind, 

A  thousand  blessings  on  your  head  ;, 

A  flash  of  lightning  struck  me  blind, 
Or  else  I  would  not  beg  my  bread. 

I  pray  that  you  may  never  be 

As  wretched  and  as  poor  as  me. 

I  watched  amid  the  stormy  blast, 

While  horrid  thunders  rent  the  clouds ; 

A  flash  of  lightning  split  the  mast, 

And  danced  among  the  bellowing  shrouds., 

That  moment  to  the  deck  I  fell, 

A  poor  unhappy  spectacle ! 

From  that  tremendous  awful  night, 
I've  never  seen  tb,e  light  of  day  : 


ORIGINAL    POEMS, 

No, — not  a  spark  of  glimmering  light 

Has  shone  across  my  darksome  way ; 
That  light  I  valued  not  before, 
Shall  bless  these  withered  eyes  no  more. 

My  little  dog,  a  faithful  friend, 

Who  with  me  crossed  the  stormy  main, 
Doth  still  my  weary  path  attend, 

And  comforts  me  in  all  my  pain  : 
He  guides  me  from  the  miry  bog : 
My  poor,  half  famished,  faithful  dog. 

With  this  companion  at  my  side, 

I  travel  on  my  lonely  way ; 
And  God  Almighty  will  provide 

A  crust  to  feed  us  day  by  day. 
Weep  not  for  me,  my  lady  kind, 
Almighty  God  protects  the  blind. 


THE  WORM. 

No,  little  worm,  you  need  not  slip 
Into  your  hole,  with  such  a  skip ; 
Drawing  the  gravel  as  you  glide, 
On  to  your  smooth  and  slimy  side  ; 
I'm  not  a  crow,  poor  worm,  not  I, 
Peeping  about  your  holes  to  spy, 
And  fly  away  with  you  in  the  air, 
To  give  my  little  ones  each  a  share. 
No,  and  I'm  not  a  rolling  stone, 
Creaking  along,  with  hollow  groan ; 
Nor  am  I  of  the  naughty  crew, 
Who  don't  care  what  poor  worms  go  through, 
But  trample  on  them  as  they  lay, 
Rather  than  step  the  other  way  ; 
Or  keep  them  dangling  on  a  hook, 
Choked  in  a  dismal  pond  or  brook, 
'Till  some  poor  fish  comes  swimming  past, 
And  finishes  their  pain  at  last. 


ORIGINAL  POEM:;. 

For  my  part  I  could  never  bear, 
Your  tender  flesh  to  hack  and  tear, 
Forgetting  that  poor  worms  endure 
As  much  as  I  should,  to  be  sure, 
If  any  giant  should  come  and  jump, 
On  to  my  back  and  kill  me  plump, 
Or  run  my  heart  through  with  a  scythe, 
And  think  it  fun  to  see  me  writhe  ? 

O  no,  I'm  only  looking  about, 
To  see  you  wriggling  in  and  out, 
And  drawing  together  your  slimy  rings, 
Instead  of  feet  like  other  things , 
So  little  worm,  don't  slide  and  slip 
Into  your  hole  with  such  a  skip. 


- 


FIRE. 

WHAT  is  it  that  shoots  from  the  mountains  so  high, 

In  many  a  beautiful  spire? 
What  is  it  that  blazes  and  curls  to  the  sky  7 

This  beautiful  something  is  fire. 

Loud  noises  are  heard  in  the  caverns  to  groan, 

Hot  cinders  fall  thicker  than  snow  ; 
Huge  stones  to  a  wonderful  distance  are  thrown, 

For  burning  fire  rages  below. 

When  Winter  blows  bleak,  and  loud  bellows   the 
storm, 

And  frostily  twinkles  the  stars ; 
Then  bright  burns  the  fire  in  the  chimney  so  warm, 

And  the  kettle  sings  shrill  on  the  bars. 

Then  call  in  the  poor  traveller  cover'd  with  snow, 

And  warm  him  with  charity  kind  ; 
Fire  is  not  so  warm  as  the  feelings  that  glow 

In  the  friendly,  benevolent  mind. 

By  fire  rugged  metals  are  fitted  for  use, 

Iron,  copper,  gold,  silver  and  tin; 
Without  its  assistance  we  could  not  produce 

So  much  as  a  minikin  pin. 


100 


ORIGINAL    I'OE-MS. 


Fire  rages  with  fury  wherever  it  comes ; 

If  only  one  spark  should  be  dropt, 
Whole  nouses  and  cities  sometimes  it  consumes 

Where  its  violence  cannot  be  stopt. 
And  when  the  great  morning  of  judgment  shall  rise, 

Flow  wide  will  its  blazes  be  curled ! 
With  heat,  fervent  heat,  it  shall  melt  down  the  skies, 

And  burn  up  this  beautiful  world. 


AIR. 

WHAT  is  it  that  winds  about  over  the  world, 

Spread  thin  like  a  covering  fair] 
'Into  each  crack  and  crevice  'tis  artfully  curled ; 

This  sly  little  fluid  is — air. 
In  summer's  still  ev'ning  how  peaceful  it  floats, 

When  not  a  leaf  moves  on  the  spray  ; 
And  no  sound  is  heard  but  the  nightingale's  notes, 

And  merry  gnats  dancing  away. 

The  village  bells  glide  on  its  bosom  serene, 

And  steal  in  sweet  cadence  along-; 
The  shepherd's  soft  pipe  warbles  over  the  green, 

And  the  cottage  girls  join  in  the  song. 

But  when  winter  blows,  then  it  bellows  aloud, 

And  roars  in  the  northerly  blast; 
With  fury  drives  onward  the  snowy  blue  cloud, 

And  cracks  the  tall  tapering  mast. 
The  sea  rages  wildly  and  mounts  to  the  skies 

In  billows  and  fringes  of  foam, 
And  the  sailor  in  vain  turns  his  pitiful  eyes 

Towards  his  dear  peaceable  home. 
When  fire  lays  and  smothers,  or  gnaws  thro'  the  beam' 

Air  forces  it  fiercer  to  glow ; 
And  engines  in  vain  in  cold  torrents  may  stream, 

Unless  the  wind  ceases  to  blow.  ^ 

In  the  forest  it  tears  up  the  sturdy  old  oak, 

That  many  a  tempest  had  known ; 


ORIGINAL  POEM?.  101 

The  tall  mountain  pine  into  splinters  is  broke, 
And  over  the  precipices  blown. 

And  yet  though  it  rages  with  fury  so  wild, 

On  the  solid  earth,  water  or  fire, 
Without  its  assistance  the  tenderest  child 

Would  struggle,  and  gasp,  and  expire. 

Pure  air,  pressing  into  the  curious  clay, 

Gave  life  to  these  bodies  at  first ; 
And  when  in  the  bosom  it  ceases  to  play 

We  crumble  again  into  dust. 


EARTH. 

WHAT  is  it  that's  covered  so  richly  with  green, 

And  gives  to  the  forest  its  birth  1 
A  thousand  plants  bloom  on  its  bosom  serene  ; 

Whose  bosom  1 — the  bosom  of  earth. 

Hidden  deep  in  its  bowels  the  emerald  shines, 

The  ruby,  and  amethyst  blue  ; 
And  silver  and  gold  glitter  bright  in  the  mines 

Of  Mexico  rich,  and  Peru. 

Large  quarries  of  granite  and  marble  are  spread, 

In  its  wonderful  bosom,  like  bones  ; 
Chalks,  gravels,  and  coals,  salt,  sulpher,  and  lead, 

And  thousands  of  beautiful  stones. 

Beasts,  savage  and  tame,  of  all  colours  and  forms, 

Either  stalk  in  its  deserts,  or  creep  ; 
White  bears  sit  and  growl  to  the  northerly  storms, 

And  shaggy  goats  bound  from  the  steep. 

The  oak,  and  the  snow-drop,  the  cedar,  and  rose, 

Alike  on  its  bosom  are  seen  ; 
The  tall  fir  of  Norway,  surrounded  with  snows, 

And  the  mountain-ash  scarlet  and  green. 

Fine  grass  and  rich  mosses  creep  over  its  hills, 
A  thousand  flowers  breathe  in  the  gale  ; 

9* 


102  0 R WIN AL  POEMS. 

Tall  water-weeds  dip  in  its  murmuring  rills, 
And  harvests  wave  bright  in  the  vale. 

And  when  this  poor  body  is  cold  and  decayed, 
And  this  warm  throbbing  heart  is  at  rest, 

My  head  upon  thee,  mother  Earth,  shall  be  laid-; 
To  find  a  long  home  in  thy  breast. 


WATER. 

WHAT  is  it  that  glitters  so  clear  and  serene, 

Or  dances  in  billows  so  white  ] 
Ships  skimming  along  on  its  surface  are  seen 

'Tis  water  that  glitters  so  bright. 

Sea-weeds  wind  about  in  its  cavities  wet, 

The  pearl-oyster  quietly  sleeps  ; 
A  thousand  fair  shells,  yellow,  amber,  arid  jet, 

And  coral,  glow  red  in  its  deeps. 

Whales  lash  the  white  foam  in  their  frolicksome  wrath, 
While  hoarsely  the  winter  wind  roars  ; 

And  shoals  of  green  mackerel  stretch  from  the  north, 
And  wander  along  by  our  shores. 

When  tempests  sweep  over  its  bosom  serene, 

Like  mountains  its  billows  arise ; 
The  ships  now  appear  to  be  buried  between, 

And  now  carried  up  to  the  skies. 

It  gushes  out  clear  from  the  side  of  the  hill, 
And  sparkles  right  down  from  the  steep ; 

Then  waters  the  valley,  and  roars  through'  the  mill, 
And  wanders  in  many  a  sweep. 

The  traveller  that  crosses  the  desert  so  wide, 

Hot,  weary,  and  stifled  with  dust, 
Longs  often  to  stoop  at  some  rivulet's  side, 

To  quench  in  its  waters  his  thirst. 

The  stately  white  swan  glides  along  on  its  breast, 
Nor  ruffles  its  surface  serene ; 


103 

And  the  duckling  unfledged  waddles  out  of  his  nest 
To  dabble  in  ditch-water  green. 

The  clouds  blown  about  in  the  chilly  blue  sky, 

Vast  cisterns  of  water  contain  ;   . 
Like  snowy  white  feathers  in  winter  they  fly, 

In  summer  stream  gently  in  rain. 

When  sun-beams  so  bright  on  the  falling  drops  shine, 

The  rainbow  enlivens  the  shower, 
And  glows  in  the  heavens,  a  beautiful  sign 

That  water  shall  drown  us  no  more. 


TIT  FOR  TAT. 
T&T  for  tat  is  a  very  bad  word, 

As  frequently   people  apply  it ; 
It  means,  as  I've  usually  heard, 

They  intended  to  revenge  themselves  by  it. 
There  is  but  one  place  where  its  proper  and  pat, 
And  then  I  permit  them  to  say,  '  tit  for  tat.' 

Poor  Dobbin,  that  toils  with  his  load, 

Or  gallops  with  master  or  man, 
Don't  lash  him  so  fast  on  the  road, 
You  see  he  does  all  that  he  can ; 
How  long  he  has  served  you  ;  do  recollect  that, 
And  treat  him  with  kindness ;  'tis  but  '  tit  for  tat.' 

Poor  Brindle,  that  lashes  her  tail, 

And  trudges  home  morning  and  night, 
Till  Dolly  appears  with  her  pail, 

To  milk  out  the  fluid  so  white ; 
Don't  kick  her  poor  haunches,  or  beat  her  and  that, 
To  be  kind  to  poor  Brindle  is  but  'tit  for  tat.' 

Gray  Donkey,  the  sturdy  old  ass, 

That  jogs  with  his  panners  so  wide, 
And  wants  but  a  mouthful  of  grass, 
Or  perhaps  a  green  thistle  beside  : 
Don't  load  him  so  heavy,  he  can't  carry  that ; 
Poor  Donkey,  I'm  sure  they  forget  '  tit  for  tat.* 


104  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

There's  honest  old  Tray  in  the  yard, 

What  courage  arid  zeal  lias  he  shown 
T would  surely  be  cruelly  hard, 

Not  to  cast  the  poor  fellow  a  bone. 
How  fiercely  he  barks  at  the  robbers,  and  that 
I'm  sure  that  to  starve  him  is  not, '  tit  for  tat.' 

Poor  Puss  that  runs  mewing  about, 

Her  white  belly  sweeping  the  ground  ; 
The  mother  abused  and  kick'd  out, 

And  her  innocent  little  ones  drowned  : 
Whenever  she  catches  the  mischievous  rat, 
Be  kind  to  poor  Pussy,  'tis  but  tit  for  tat.' 

Whatever  shows  kindness  to  us, 

With  kindness  we  ought  to  repay, 
Bridle,  Donkey,  Tray,  Dobbin,  and  Puss, 

And  every  thing  else  in  its  way  ; 
In  cases  like  these,  it  is  proper  and  pat, 
To  make  use  of  this  maxim,  and  say  *  tit  for  tat. 


JANE  AND  ULIZA. 

THERE  were  two  little  girls  neither  handsome  nor  plain* 

One's  name  was  Eliza,  the  other  was  Jane; 

They  were  both  of  one  height,  as  I've  heard  people 

say, 
And  both  of  one  age,  I  believe,  to  a  day. 

'Twas  thought  by  most  people,  who  slightly  had  seen 

them, 

There  was  not  a  pin  to  be  chosen  between  them — 
But  no  one  for  long  in  this  notion  persisted, 
So  great  a  distinction  there  really  existed. 

Eliza  knew  well,  that  she  could  not  be  pleasing, 
While  fretting  and  fuming,  while  sulky  or  teazing : 
And  therefore  in  company  artfully  tried, 
Not  to  break  her  bad  habits,  but  only  to  hide. 


ORIGINAL    I'OEMS. 

So  when  she  was  out,  with  much  labour  and  pain,  *'< 
She  contrived  to  look  almost  "as  pleasing  as  Jane ; 
But  I'm  sure  you'd  have  laugh'd,  to  have  known  all 
the  while,  [smile. 

How  her  mouth  would  oft  ache  while  she  forced  it  to 

But  in  spite  of  her  care,  it  would  sometimes  befal, 
That  some  cross  evept  happened  to  ruin  it  all ;  [worst. 
And  because  it  might  chance  that  her  share  was  the 
Her  temper  broke  loose,  and  her  dimples  dispersed. 

But  Jane,  who  had  nothing  she  wanted  to  hide, 
And  therefore  these  troublesome  arts  never  tried, 
Had  none  of  the  care  or  fatigue  of  concealing, 
But  her  face  always  showed  what  her  bosom  was 
feeling. 

The  smiles  that  upon  her  sweet  countenance  were, 
At  home'or  abroad,  they  were  constantly  there, 
And  Eliza  worked  hard  but  could  never  obtain, 
The  affection  that  freely  was  given  to  Jane. 

ELIZA  AND  JANE. 

CHEER  up  my  young  friends,  I  have  better  news  now, 
Eliza  has  driven  the  scowl  from  her  brow  ; 
And  finding  she  paid  to  get  nothing,  so  dearly, 
Determined  at  last  to  be  good-natured  really. 

'Twas  a  great  deal  of  trouble  at  first,  I  confess: 
Her  temper  would  rise,  and  'twas  hard  to  repress ; 
But  being  a  girl  of  some  sense  and  discerning, 
She  would  not  be  stopped  by  the  trouble  of  turning. 

Ten  times  in  a  day  she'd  her  work  to  begin, 
When  passion  or  fretfulness  begged  to  come  in : 
But  determined  to  see  their  vile  faces  no  more, 
She  sent  them  off  packing  and  bolted  the  door. 

Sometimes  she  would  kneel  in  her  chamber  and  pray, 
That  God  in  his  mercy  would  take  them  away  ; 


106  tfRIGIXAL    POEMS. 

And  God,  who  is  pleased  with  a  penitent's  cry, 
Bowed  down  in  compassion  and  helped  her  to  try, 

The  smiles  that  now  beam  on  her  countenance  fair, 
At  home  and  abroad  they  are  constant]}'1  there  ;  ^ 
And  Eliza  no  longer  is  found  to  complain, 
Thai  she  is  not  belov'd  like  her  play-fellow  Jane, 

THE  BABY. 

SAFE  sleeping  on  its  mother's  breast, 

The  smiling  babe  appears, 
Now  sweetly  sinking  into  rest, 

Now  washed  in  sudden  tears. 
Hush,  hush,  my  little  baby  dear, 
There's  nobody  to  hurt  thee  here 

Without  a  mother's  tender  care,  * 

The  little  thing  must  die ; 
Us  chubby  hands  too  feeble  are 

One  service  to  supply ; 
And  not  a  tittle  does  it  know 
What  kind  of  world  'tis  come  into. 

The  lamb  sports  gaily  on  the  grass 

When  scarcely  born  a  day  ; 
The  foal,  beside  his  mother  ass, 

Trots  frolicksome  away  ; 
And  not  a  creature  tame  or  wild, 
Is  half  so  helpless  as  a  child. 

To  nurse  a  doll  so  gaily  drest 

And  stroke  its  flaxen  hair, 
Or  ring  the  coral  at  its  waist, 

With  silver  bells  so  fair, 
Is  all  the  little  creature  can, 
That  is  so  soon  to  be  a  man. 

Full  many  a  summer's  sun  must  glow 
Arid  lighten  up  the  skies., 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  107 

Before  its  tender  limbs  can  grow- 
To  any  thing  of  size  ; 
And  all  the  while  the  mother's  eye 
Must  every  little  want  supply. 

Then  surely  when  each  little  limb 

Shall  grow  to  healthy  size, 
And  youth  and  manhood  strengthen  him 

For  toil  and  enterprise, 
His  mother's  kindness  is  a  debt, 
He  never,  never  will  forget 

THE  POOR  OLD  MAN. 

AH  !  who  is  it  totters  along, 

And  leans  on  the  top  of  his  stick  ? 
His  wrinkles  are  many  and  long, 

And  his  beard  is  grown  silver  and  thick ; 
No  vigour  enlivens  his  frame, 

No  cheerfulness  beams  in  his  eye, 
His  limbs  are  enfeebled  and  lame, 

And  I  think  he  is  going  to  die. 

They  tell  me  he  once  was  as  young, 

As  gay  and  as  cheerful  as  I ; 
That  he  danced  the  green  wood-walks  among, 

And  carolled  his  songs  to  the  sky  ; 
That  he  clambered  high  over  the  rocks, 

To  search  where  the  sea-bird  had  been, 
And  followed  his  frolicksome  flocks, 

Up  and  down,  on  the  mountain  so  green. 

But  now  what  a  change  there  appears  ! 

How  altered  his  figure  and  face  ! 
Bent  low  with  a  number  of  years, 

How  feeble  and  slow  is  his  pace  ! 
He  thought  a  few  winters  ago, 

Old  age  was  a  great  while  to  come, 
And  it  seems  but  as  yesterday  now, 

That  he  frolicked  in  vigour  and  bloom. 


108  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

He  thought  it  was  time  enough  yet, 

For  death  and  the  grave  to  prepare, 
And  seemed  all  his  life  to  forget 

How  fast  time  would  carry  him  there. 
He  sported  in  spirits  and  ease, 

And  religion  thought  troublesome  stuffy 
Till  all  in  a  hurry  he  sees, 

That  he  has  not  got  half  time  enough, 

Now  weak  with  disorder  and  years, 

And  tottering  into  the  dust, 
He  wishes  with  penitent  tears, 

He  had  minded  religion  at  first ; 
He  weeps,  and  he  trembles,  and  prays, 

And  wishes  his  life  to  return, 
But  alas  !  he  has  wasted  the  blaze, 

And  now  it  no  longer  will  burn. 
j^  '  

/THE  NOTORIOUS  GLUTTJpN. 
A  DUCK,  who  had'got  such  a  habit  of  stuffing, 
That  all  the  day  long  she  was  panting  and  puffing;, 
And  by  every  creature  who  did  her  great  crop  see, 
Was  thought  to  be  galloping  fast  for  a  dropsy. 
One  day,  after  eating  a  plentiful  dinner, 
With  full  twice  as  much  as  there  should  have  been  in 

her, 

While  up  to  her  eyes  in  the  gutter  a  roking, 
Was  greatly  alarmed  by  the  symptoms. of  choking. 

Now   there   was    an    old    fellow   much    famed   for 

discerning 

(A  drake  who  had  taken  a  liking  for  learning) 
And  high  in  repute  with  his  feathery  friends, 
Was  called  Dr.  Drake, — for  this  doctor  she  sends. 

In  a  hole  of  the  dunghill  was  Dr.  Drake's  shop, 
Where  he  kept  a  few  simples  for  curing  the  crop  ; 
Some  gravel  and  pebbles,  to  help  the  digestion, 
And  certain  famed  plants  of  the  doctor's  selection 


POEMS.  1 

So  taking  a  handful  of  comical  things, 
And  brushing  his  topple  and  pluming  his  wings, 
And  putting  his  feathers  in  apple-pie  order, 
Set  out  to  prescribe  for  the  lady's  disorder. 

*'  D^ar  sir,"  said  the  duck,  with  a  delicate  quack, 
Just  turning  a  little  way  round  on  her  back, 
And  leaning  her  head  on  a  stone  in  the  yard, 
"  My  case,  Dr.  Drake,  is  excedingly  hard. 

41 1  feel  so  distended  with  wind,  and  opprest, 

So  squeamish  and  faint — such  a  load  at  my  chest ; 

And  day  after  day,  I  assure  you,  it  is  hard, 

To  suffer  with  patfcnce  these  pains  in  my  gizzard." 

*'  Give  me  leave,"  said  the  doctor,  with  medical  look, 

As  her  flabby  cold  paw  in  his  finders  he  took ; 

"  By  the  feel  of  your  pulse, — your  complaint  I've  been 

thinking, 
Is  caused  by  your  habits  of  eating  and  drinking." 

"  Oh  no,  sir,  believe  me,"  the  lady  replied, 
(Alarmed  for  her  stomach,  as  well  as  her  pride,) 
"  I  am  sure  it  arises  from  nothing  1  eat, 
For  1  rather  suspect,  I  got  wet  in  my  feet. 

I've  only  been  rakin/r  a  bit  in  the  gutter, 

Where  the  cook  had  been  pouring  some  cold  melted 

butter, 

And  a  slice  of  green  cabbage,  and  scraps  of  cold  meat, 
Just  a  trifle  or  two,  that  I  thought  I  could  eat." 

The  doctor  was  just  to  his  business  proceeding, 
By  nentJe  emetics,  a  blister  and  bleeding, 
When  all  on  a  sudden  she  rolled  on  her  side, 
Gave  a  horrible  quackle,  a  struggle,  and  died  ! 

Her  remains  were  interred  in  a  neighbouring  swamp, 
By  her  friends,  with  a  great  deal  of  funeral  pomp; 
But  I've  heard  this  inscription  her  tombstone  was  put 

on, 

«  Here  lies  Mrs.  Duck,  the  notorious  glutton." 
10 


110  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

And  all  the  young  ducklings  are  brought  by  their 

friends. 
To  learn  the  disgrace  in  which  gluttony  ends. 

THE  LITTLE  CRIPPLE'S  COMPLAINT. 

I'M  a  helpless  crippled  child. 

Gentle  Christians  pity  me ; 
Once  in  rosy  health  1  smiled, 

Blithe  and  gay  as  you  can  be ; 
And  upon  the  village  green, 
First  in  every  sport  was  seen. 

Now,  alas !  I'm  weak  and  low, 

Cannot  either  work  or  play ; 
Tottering  on  my  crutches  slow, 

Drag  along  my  weary  way  : 
Now,  no  longer  dance  and  sing, 
Gaily  in  the  merry  ring. 

Many  sleepless  nights  I  live, 

Turning  on  my  weary  bed; 
Softest  pillows  cannot  give 

Slumbers  to  my  aching  head  ; 
Constant  anguish  makes  it  fly, 
From  my  wakeful,  heavy  eye. 

And  when  morning  beams  return, 

They  no  comfort  bring  to  me ; 
Still  my  limbs  with  fever  burn, 

Painful  shoots  rny  crippled  knee ; 
And  another  tedious  day 
Passes  slow  and  sad  away. 

From  the  chamber  windows  high, 

Lifted  to  my  easy  chair, 
I  the  village  green  can  spy — 

Once  I  used  to  follow  there, 
March,  or  beat  my  new-brought  drum- 
Happy  times  no  more  to  come. 


ORIGINAL  1'OEMS. 

There  I  see  my  fellows  gay, 
Sporting  on  the  daisied  turf, 

And  amidst  their  cheerful  play, 
Stopped  by  many  a  merry  laugh; 

But  the  sight  I  cannot  bear, 

Leaning  on  my  easy  chair. 

Let  not  then  the  scoffing  rye, 
Laugh  my  twisted  leg  to  see  ; 

<*entle  Christian,  passingby, 
Stop  awhile  and  pity  me, 

And  for  you  I'll  breathe  a  prayer, 

Leaning  in  my  easy  chair. 

POOR  DONKEY'S  EPITAPH, 

Down  in  this  ditch  poor  Donkey  lies, 
Who  jogged  with  many  a  load ; 

And  till  the  day  death  dosed  his  eyes. 
Browsed  up  and  down  this  road. 

JVo  shelter  had  he  for  his  head, 
Whatever  winds  might  blow ; 

A  neighbouring  common  was  his  bed, 
Though  drest  in  sheets  of  snow. 

In  this  green  ditch  he  often  strayed, 

To  nip  the  dainty  grass ; 
And  friendly  invitation  brayed 

To  some  more  hungry  ass. 

Each  market  day  he  jogged  along 
Beneath  the  gard'ner's  load, 

And  snored  out  many  a  donkey's  song 
To  friends  upon  the  road. 

A  tuft  of  grass,  a  thistle  green, 

Or  cabbage  leaf  so  sweet, 
Were  all  the  dainties  he  was 

For  twenty  years  to  eat. 


Ill 


GIMGKUf.    POEMS. 

And  as  for  sport,— the  sober  sou! 

Was  such  a  steady  Jack, 
He  only  HOW  and  then  would  roll,. 

Heels  upwards,  on  his  back. 

But  all  hrs  sport  and  dainties  too, 
And  labours,  now  are  o'er : 

Last  night  so  bleak  a  tempest  blew 
He  could  withstand  no  more. 

He  felt  his  feeble  limbs  benumb'd, 
His  blood  was  freezing  slow  ; 

And  presently  he  tumbled  plump, 
Stone  dead  upon  the  snow. 

Poor  Donkey!  travellers  passing  by 
Thy  cold  remains  shall  see  ; 

And  'twould  be  well,  if  all  who  die 
Had  worked  as  hard  as  thee. — ANNU 

THE  ORPHAN. 
MY  father  and  mother  are  dead, 

No  friend  or  relation  I  have  ; 
And  now  the  cold  earth  is  their  bed, 

And  daisies  grow  over  their  grave. 

I  cast  my  eyes  into  the  tomb, 
The  sight  made  me  bitterly  cry ; 

I  said,  and  is  this  the  dark  room 

Where  my  father  and  mother  must  lie 

I  cast  my  eyes  round  me  again, 
In  hopesvsome  protector  to  see ; 

Alas !  but  the  search  was  in  vain, 
For  none  had  compassion  on  me. 

I  cast  my  eyes  up  to  the  sky, 

I  groaned,  though  I  said  not  a  word  ; 

Yet  God  was  not  deaf  to  my  cry; 
The  friend  of  the  fatherless  heard. 


POEMS, 


'O  J  w  —  and  he  graciously  smiled, 
And  bid  me  on  him  to  depend  ; 

He  whispered  —  fear  not  little  child, 
For  I  am  thy  father  and  friend.  —  JANE. 


RISING  IN  THE  MORNING. 

THRICE  welcome  to  my  opening  eyes 
The  morning  beam,  which  bids  me  rise 

To  all  the  joys  of  youth ; 
For  thy  protection  whilst  I  slept, 
O  Lord,  my  humble  thanks  accept 

And  bless  my  Hps  with  truth. 

Like  cheerful  birds,  as  I  begin 

This  day,  O  keep  my  soul  from  sin — 

Arid  all  things  shall  be  well. 
Thou  gav'st  me  health,  and  clothes,  and  food? 
Preserve  me  innocent  and  good, 

Till  evening  curfew*  bell. 

GOING  TO  BED  AT  NIGHT. 

HECEIVE  my  body,  pretty  bed  ; 
Soft  pillow,  O  receive  my  head  ; 

And  thanks,  my  parents  kind, 
Those  comforts  who  for  me  provide, 
Their  precepts  still  shaH  be  my  guide, 

Their  love  I'll  keep  in  mind. 

My  hours  mispent  this  day,  I  rue, 
My  good  things  done  how  very  few ; 

Forgive  my  faults,  O  Lord  ! 
This  night  if  in  thy  grace  I  rest, 
To  morrow  I  may  rise  refreshed, 

To  keep  thy  holy  word. 

"*  Curfew  Bell — was  crdcrec]  by  King-  William  to  be  rung  at 
'clock  at  night,  at  The  sound  of  which  all  fire  and  light 
was  to  be  extinguished.  Curfew  comes  from  the  French  couwre, 
to  cover,  aud/eu,  fire. 

18* 


114  CRIGiNAL    FOLilS. 

FRANCES  KEEPS  HKR  PROMISE, 

MY  Fanny,  1  have  news  to  tell ; 

Your  diligence  quite  pleases  me, 
You've  worked  so  neatly,  read  so  well, 

With  cousin  Jane  you  may  drink  tea. 

But  pray,  my  dear,  remember  this 
Although  to  stay  you  should  incline, 

Though  warmly  pressed  by  each  kind  miss, 
I  wish  you  to  return  by  nine. 

Writh  many  thanks  the  little  child 

Assured  mamma  she  would  obey; 
When  washed  and  dressed,  ahe  kissed  and  smiled, 

And  with  the  maid  she  went  away. 

When  reached  her  cousin's  she  was  shown 
To  where  her  little  friends  were  met, 

And  when  her  coming  was  made  known, 
Around  her  flocked  the  cheerful  set. 

They  dance,  they  p'ay,  and  sweetly  sing, 
In  every  sport  each  child  partakes; 

And  now  the  servants  sweetmeats  bring, 
With  wines  and  jellies,  fruit  and  cakes. 

In  comes  papa,  and  says — **  My  dears, 

The  Magic  Lantern  if  you'd  see, 
And  that  which  on  the  wall  appears, 

Leave  off  your  play,  and  follow  me.9* 

While  Frances  too  enjoyed  the  sight, 
.Where  moving  figures  all  combine 

To  raise  her  wonder  and  delight, 

She  hears  the  parlour  clock  strike  nine. 

The  boy  walks  in,  "  Miss  Ann  is  come :" 
"  O  dear  how  soon  !"  the  children- cry ; 

They  press,  but  Fanny  will  go  home, 
And  bids  her  little  friends  good  bye. 


ORIGINAL  POEMff. 

**My  dear  mamma,  am  I  not  good  ]" 
**  You  arc  indeed,"  mamma  replies ; 

"But  when  you  said, I  knew  you  would 
Return,  and  thus  you've  won  the  prize. 

This  way,  my  love,  and  see  the  man 
Whom  I  desired  at  nine  to  call." 

Down  stairs  young  Frances  swiftly  ran, 
And  found  him  waiting  in  the  hall. 

"  Here,  miss,  are  pretty  birds  to  buy, 

A  parrot  or  macaw  so  gay  ; 
A  speckled  dove  with  scarlet  eye, 

But  quickly  choose,  I  cannot  stay. 

"  Would  you  a  Java  sparrow  love  1" 
"  No,  no,  I  thank  you,"  said  the  child  ; 

"  Til  have  a  beautious  cooing  dove, 
So  harmless,  innocent  and  mild  !" 

"  Your  choice,  my  Fanny,  I  commend, 
No  bird  can  with  the  dove  compare ; 

But  lest  it  pine  without  a  friend, 

You  may,  my  dear,  choose  out  a  pair." 


115 


MY  OLD  SHOES. 

YOU'RE  now  too  old  for  me  to  wear,  poor  shoes, 
And  yet  I  will  not  sell  you  to  the  Jews; 
Yon  wand'ring  little  boy  must  barefoot  go 
Through  mud  and  rain,  and  nipping  frost  and  snow ; 
And  as  he  walks  along  the  road  or  street, 
The  flint  is  sharp,  and  cuts  his  tender  feet. 
My  shoes  though  old  might  save  him  many  a  pain, 
And  should  I  sell  them,  what  might  be  my  gain  1 
A  sixpence,  that  would  buy  some  foolish  toy — 
No,  take  these  shoes,  poor  shiv'ring  barefoot  boy. 


TO  GEORGE  PULLING  BUDS. 
DON'T  pull  that  bud,  it  yet  may  grow 
As  fine  a  flower  as  this ; 


116  ORIGINAL    POB^lfl. 

Had  it  been  plucked  a  month  ago, 

We  should  its  beauties  miss. 
You  are  yourself  a  bud,  my  blooming  boy, 
Weigh  well  the  consequence  ere  you  destroy, 
Lest  for  the  present  paltry  sport,  you  kill  a  future  joy. 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  GIFT. 

A  CHARMING  present  comes  from  town, 

A  baby  house  quite  neat; 
With  kitchen,  parlour,  dining-room 

And  chambers  all  complete. 

A  gift  to  Emma  and  to  Rose, 

From  grand-papa  it  came; 
'Till  little  Rosa  smiled  delight, 

And  Emma  did  the  same. 

They  eagerly  examined  all — 

The  furniture  was  gay  ; 
And  in  the  rooms  they  placed  their  dolls, 

When  dressed  in  fine  array. 

At  night  their  little  candles  lit, 

Ami  as  they  must  be  fed, 
To  supper  down  the  dolls  were  placed, 

And  then  were  put  to  bed. 

Thus  Rose  and  Emma  passed  each  hour, 

Devoted  to  their  play  ; 
And  long  were  cheerful,  happy,  kind, 

No  cross  disputes  had  they — 

'Till  Rose  in  baby-house  would  change 

The  chairs  which  were  below — 
"  This  carpet  they  will  better  suit ; 

I  think  I'll  have  it  so." 

"  No,  no,  indeed,"  her  sister  said, 

"  I'm  older  R.-se  than  you  ; 
And  I'm  the  pet— the  house  is  mine 

Miss,  what  I  say  is  true/1 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  1  17 

The  quarrel  grew  to  such  a  height, 

Mamma  she  heard  the  noise, 
And  coming  in,  beheld  the  floor ' 

AJ1  strewed  with  broken  toys. 

"  O  fie,  my  Emma  !  naughty  Rose  ! 

Say,  why  this  suik  and  pout? 
Remember  this  is  New- Year's  day, 

And  both  are  going  out." 
Now  Betty  calls  the  little  girls ; 

Ho  !  come  up  stairs  and  dress ; 
They  still  revile  with  threats  and  taunts, 

And  angry  rage  express. 
But  just  prepared  to  leave  the  room, 

Persisting  yet  in  strife, 
Rose  sickening  fell  on  Betty's  lap, 

As  void  of  sense  or  life. 
Mamma  appeared  at  Betty's  call — 

John  for  the  doctor  goes  ; 
The  measles,  he  begins  to  think, 

Dread  symptons  all  disclose. 
"But  though  I  stay,  my  Emma  you 

May  go  and  spend  the  day." 
"  O  no,  mamma,"  replied  the  child, 

"Do  suffer  me  to  stay. 
"  Beside  my  sister's  bed  I'll  sit. 

And  watch  her  with  such  care, 
No  pleasure  can  I  e'er  enjoy, 

'Till  she  my  pleasure  share. 
"  How  silly  now  seems  our  dispute, 

Not  one  of  us  she  knows  ; 
How  pale  she  looks,  how  hard  she  breathes ; 

Poor  pretty  little  Rose  !" 

THE  CRUEL  THORN. 
A  BIT  of  wool  sticks  here  upon  this  thorn  : 
Ah  !  cruel  thorn,  to  tear  it  from  the  sheep ! 


118  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

And  yet,  perhaps,  with  pain  its  fleece  was  worn, 
its  coat  so  thick,  a  hot  and  cumbTOUsheap. 

The  wool  a  little  bird  takes  in  his  bill, 
And  with  it  up  to  yonder  tree  he  flies ; 

A  nest  he's  building  there,  with  matchles  skill, 
Compact  and  close,  that  cold  and  rain  defies. 

To  line  that  nest,  the  wool  so  soft  and  warm, 

Preserves  the  eggs  which  holds  its  tender  young, 

And  when  they're  hatched,  that  wool  will  keep  from 

harm 
The  callow  brood,  till  they  are  fledged  and  strong, 

Thus  birds  find  use  for  what  the  sheep  can  spare: 
In  this,  my  child,  a  wholesome  moral  spy ; 

And  when  the  poor  shall  crave,  thy  plenty  share, 
Let  thy  abundance  thus  their  wants  supply. 


NIMBLE 
MY  boy  be  cool,  do  things  by  rule, 

And  then  you'll  do  them  right ; 
A  story  true  I'll  tell  to  you, 

'Tis  of  a  luckless  wight. 

He'd  never  wait,  was  ever  late, 

Because  he  was  so  quick; 
This  shatter-brain  did  thus  obtain 

The  name  of  nimble  Dick. 

All  in  his  best  young  Dick  was  drest, 

Cries  he,  "  I'm  very  dry !" 
Though  glass  and  jug,  and  china  mug, 

On  side-board  stood  hard  by — 

With  skip  and  jump  unto  the  pump, 
With  open  mouth  he  goes, 

The  water  out  ran  from  the  spout, 
And  wetted  all  his  clothes. 

A  fine  tureen  as  e'er  was  seen, 
On  dinner  table  stood ; 


ORIGINAL    POEMS.  i 

Says  John,  "  'tis  hot ;"  says  Dick.  "  'tis  not— 
1  know  the  soup  is  good." 

His  brother  bawled,  "  yourself  you'll  scald — 

O  Dick  you're  so  uncooth  !'* 
Dick  filled  his  spoon,  and  then  as  soon 

Conveyed  it  to  his  mouth. 

And  soon  about  he  spurts  it  out, 

And  cries.  "  O  wicked  soup  !" 
His  mother  chid,  his  father  bid 

Him  from  the  table  troop. 

All  in  despatch  he  made  a  match 

To  run  a  race  with  Bill ; 
"My  boy,"  said  he,  "  I'll  win,  you'll  see 

I'll  beat  you,  that  I  will. ' 

With  merry  heart  now  off  they  start, 

Like  ponies  full  in  speed ; 
Soon  Bill  he  passed,  for  very  fast 

This  Dicky  ran  indeed. 

But  hurry  all,  Dick  got  a  fall, 

And  whilst  he  sprawling  lay, 
Bill  reached  the  post,  and  Dicky  lost, 

And  Billy  won  the  day. 

"  Bring  here  my  pad,"  now  cries  the  lad, 

Unto  the  servant  John  ; 
"  I'll  mount  astride,  this  day  I'll  ride, 

So  put  the  sadddle  on." 

No  time  to  waste,  'twas  brought  in  haste, 
Dick  longed  to  have  it  backed ; 

With  spur  and  boot  on  leg  and  foot, 
His  whip  he  loudly  cracked 

The  mane  he  grasped,  the  crupper  clasped, 

He  leaped  up  from  the  ground 
All  smart  and  spruce,  the  girth  was  loose, 

He  turned  the  saddle  round. 


120  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

Then  down  he  came,  the  scoff  and  shame 

Of  all  the  standers  by, 
Poor  Dick,  alack !  upon  his  back, 

Beneath  the  horse  did  lie. 

Still  slow  and  sure,  success  secure, 

And  be  not  over  quick; 
For  method's  sake,  a  warning  take 

From  hasty  nimble  Dick. 


THE  LINNET'S  NEST. 

MY  linnet's  nest,  Miss,  will  you  buy  ? 

They're  nearly  fledged. — Ah,  no,  no,  not  1 1 

I'll  not  encourage  naughty  boys 

To  rob  a  parent  of  its  joys; 

Those  darling  joys,  to  feed  its  young, 

To  see  them  grow  up  brisk  and  strong. 

With  care  the  tender  brood  to  nourish, 
To  see  them  plume,  and  perch,  and  flc-irish, 
To  here  them  chirp,  to  hear  them  sing* 
To  see  them  try  the  little  wing; 
To  view  them  chanting  on  the  tree, 
The  charming  song  of  liberty. 

I  do  not  love  to  see  them  mope 
Within  a  cage,  devoid  of  hope, 
And  all  the  joys  that  freedom  gives; 
The  pvis'ner's  sonnet  only  grieves — 
I  love  their  song ;  yet  give  to  me 
The  cheerful  note  that  sings,  "  I'm  free  !J' 


THE  ITALIAN  GRAYHOUND 

LIGHTLY  as  the  rose  leaves  fall, 
By  the  zephyr  scattered  round, 

Let  thy  feet,  when  thee  I  call, 
Patting  softly  touch  the  ground, 


ORIGINAL   POEMS. 

Happy  1  to  think  thou'rt  mine ; 

Gentle  grayhound  come  apace. 
J3eauty's  form  in  ev'ry  line, 
Ev'ry  attitude  is  grace. 

Speaking  eyes  thou  hast:  why  shrink  1 

'Neath  my  hand  why  tremble  so  1 
Beauteous  grayhound  dost  thou  think 
Harm  from  me  ! — believe  me,  no. 

Cruel  dogs  and  savage  men, 
Hunt  a  wretched  hare  for  miles, 

Guiltless  grayhound  here  lie  then, 
Love  thy  mistress  for  her  smiles-. 


THE  USE  OF  SIGHT- 

*•  WHAT  1  Charles  returned  !"  papa  exclaimed, 
"  How  short  your  walk  has  been  ! 

But  Thomas — Julia — where  are  they 
Come  tell  me  what  you've  seen." 

"  So  tedious,  stupid?  dull,  a  walk!" 

Said  Charles,  "  I'll  go  no  more — 
First  stopping  here  then  lagging  there, 

O'er  this  and  that  to  pore. 

"  I  crossed  the  fields  near  Woodland  House, 

And  just  went  up  the  hill, 
Then  by  the  river  side  came  down, 

Near  Mr.  Fairplay's  mill." 

Now  Tom  and  Julia  both  ran  in — 

"  O  dear  papa,"  said  they, 
"  The  sweetest  walk  we  both  have  had — 

O  what  a  pleasant  day  ! 

"Near  Woodland  House  we  crossed  the  fields, 

And  by  the  mill  we  came." 
"Indeed  !"  exclaimed  papa,  "  how's  this? 

Your  brother  took  the  same ; 
11 


122  AivIGINAL    POEMS. 


"  But  very  dull  he  found  the  walk  ; 

What  have  you  there,  let's  see  — 
Come,  Charles,  enjoy  this  charming  treat, 

As  new  to  you  as  me." 

"  First  look,  papa,  at  this  small  branch, 

Which  on  a  tall  oak  grew, 
And  by  its  slimy  berries  white, 

The  misletoe  we  knew. 

"  A  bird  all  green  ran  up  a  tree, 

A  wood  -pecker  we  call, 
Who,  with  his  strong  bill,  wounds  the  bark, 

To  feed  on  insects  small. 

"  And  many  lapwings  cried  peewit  !• 

And  one  among  the  rest, 
Pretended  lameness,  to  decoy 

Us  from  her  lowly  nest. 

"  Young  starlings,  martins,  swallows  all, 

Such  lovely  flocks,  so  gay  ! 
A  heron  too  who  caught  a  fish, 

And  with  it  flew  away. 
44  This  bird  we  found,  a  kingfisher, 

Though  dead,  his  plumes  how  bright!  — 
Do  have  him  stuffed,  my  dear  papa, 

'Twill  be  a  charming  sight. 

"When  reached  the  heath  how  wide  the  space 

The  air  how  fresh  and  sweet: 
We  plucked  these  flow'rs  on  diff'rent  heaths, 

The  fairest  we  could  meet. 
44  The  distant  prospect  we  admired 

The  mountains  far  and  blue; 
A  mansion  here  a  cottage  there, 

See,  here's  the  sketch  we  drew. 

"  A  splendid  sight  we  next  beheld  —  • 

The  glorious  setting  sun, 
In  clouds  of  crimson,  purple,  gold, 

His  daity  rare  was  done-11 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  123 

"  True  taste  and  knowledge,"  said  papa, 

"  By  observation's  gained  ; 
You've  both  used  well  the  gift  of  sight, 

And  thus  reward  obtained. 
"  My  Julia  in  this  desk  will  find 

A  drawing  box  quite  new  ; 
This  spy-glass,  Tom,  you  oft  desired, 

I  think  it  now  your  due. 
"  And  pretty  toys  and  pretty  gifts 

For  Charles  too  shall  be  bought, 
When  he  can  see  the  works  of  God, 

And  prize  them  as  he  ought." 


THE  MORNING'S  TASK. 

SIT  to  your  books,  the  father  said, 
Nor  Play  nor  trifle,  laugh  nor  talk : 

And  when  at  noon  you've  spelt  and  read, 
I'll  take  you  all  a  pleasant  walk. 

He  left  the  room  the  boys  sat  still, 
Each  gravely  bent  upon  his  task; 

But  soon  the  youngest,  little  Will, 
Of  this  and  that  would  teazing  ask. 

„« I've  lost  my  ball,"  the  prattler  cried, 
"Have  either  of  you  seen  my  ball?" 

"Pray  mind  your  book,"  young  Charles  replied, 
"  Your  noisy  talk  disturbs  us  all. 

Remember  now  what  we  were  told, 

The  time,  I  warn  you,  Will,  draws  near;" 

"  And  what  care  II"  said  Will  so  bold, 
"  You,  Charles,  I  neither  mind  nor  fear." 

He  spun  his  top,  he  cracked  his  whip, 

At  marbles  also  he  would  play, 
And  round  the  room  he  chose  to  skip, 

And  thus  his  hours  he  threw  away. 
But  at  the  window  what  comes  in ! 

A  lovelv  tip-in**^  »«•**-  " 


124 


ORIGINAL,    POEM: 


4  A  prize !  a  prize  that  I  will  win  !' 
Young  William  loud  is  heard  to  cry. 

Quick  on  the  table  up  he  leaps, 

Then  on  the  chair  and  sofa  springs ; 
Now  there,  now  here,  he  softly  creeps, 

And  now  his  books  and  hat  he  flings. 
The  brilliant  insect  fluttered  round,  i 

And  out  again  it  gaily  flew ; 
Then  through  the  window  with  a  bound, 

Will  jumped  and  said  "  I'll  soon  have  you." 

From  flower  to  flower  the  hoy  it  led, 

He  still  pursued  the  pretty  thing; 
Away  it  sprang  from  bed  to  bed, 

J\'ow  sipping  dew,  now  on  the  wing, 
And  to  the  fields  it  took  its  flight, 

He  thought  the  prize  was  worth  the  chase  ; 
O'er  hedge  and  ditch  with  all  his  might, 

He  followed  up  the  pleasing  race. 

To  catch  it  he  was  much  perplexed  ; 

The  insect  now  is  seen  no  more — 
While  standing  thus  confounded,  vexed, 

He  hears  the  village  clock  strike  four. 
T'wards  home  he  hastened  at  the  sound, 

All  shame,  surprise,  and  fear,  and  doubt ; 
Nor  sisters,  brothers,  could  be  found, 

He  ask  and  hears  they're  all  gone  out. 

With  sorrow  struck,  when  this  was  told, 

He  cried — in  sadness  down  he  sat: 
Now  o'er  the  stones  a  carriage  rolled, 

And  at  the  door  came  rat  tat  tat. 
And  from  the  coach  the  girls  and  boys 

Stepped  out  all  smiling,  pleased,  and  gay; 
With  books  and  dolls,  and  pretty  toys, 

Bats,  ninepins,  hoops,  and  kites  had  they. 

"  Why,  Will,  my  boy !"  the  father  said, 
"  Come  hither  child,  but  wherefore  cry  ; 


POKMf.  125 

Don't  droop  your  face,  why  hang  your  head? 

Let's  see  the  pretty  butterfly. 
I  kept  my  promise,  home  I  came, 

According  to  my  first  intent ; 
You  broke  your  word,  and  yours  the  shame, 

We  then  without  you  shopping  went." 


THE  OAK. 

THE  oak  for  grandeur,  strength,  and  noble  size, 

Excels  all  trees  that  in  the  forest  grow ; 
From  acorn  small  that  trunk,  those  branches  rise, 

To  which  such  signal  benefits  we  owe. 
Behold  what  shelter  in  its  ample  shade,. 

From  noon-tide  sun,  or  from  the  drenching  rain  ; 
And  of  its  timber  staunch  vast  ships  are  made, 

To  sweep  rich  cargoes  o'er  the  wat'ry  main. 


CARELESS  MATILDA. 

AGAIN,  Matilda,  is  your  work  astray, 

Your  thimble  gone !   your  scissors,  where  are  they? 

Your  needles,  pins,  your  thread,  and  tapes  all  lost — 

Your  house  wife  here,  and  there  your  work-bag  tost. 

Fie,  fie,  my  child !  indeed  this  will  not  do, 

Your  hair  uncombed,  your  frock  in  tatters  too ; 

I'm  now  resolved  no  more  delays  to  grant, 

This  day  I'll  send  you  to  your  stern  old  aunt. 

In  vain  Matilda  wept,  repented,  prayed, 

In  vain  a  promise  of  amendment  made. 

Arriv'd  at  Austere  Hall,  Matilda  sighed, 

]ty  Lady  Rigid  when  severely  eyed ; 

"  You  read  and  write,  and  work  well  as  I'm  told, 

Are  gentle,  kind,  good  natured,  far  from  bold  : 

But  very  careless,  negligent  and  wild : 

When  you  leave  me,  you'll  be  a  different  child." 

The  little  girl  next  morn  a  favour  asks ; 

w  I  wish  to  take  a  walk," — "Go  learn  your  tasks," 


126 


FOE.VIS, 


The  lady  harsh  replies,  "  nor  cry  nor  whine, 

Your  room  you  leave  not  till  you're  called  to  dine." 

As  thus  Matilda  sat,  overwhelmed  with  shame, 

A  dame  appeared,  Disorder  was  her  name  ; 

Her  hair  and  dress  neglected,  soiled  her  face, 

She  squinted,  leered,  and  hobbled  in  her  pace. 

"  Here,  child,"  she  said,  "  my  mistress  sends  you  this, 

A  bag  of  silks—  a  flower  not  worked  amiss 

A  polyanthus  bright  and  ponderous  gay, 

You'll  copy  it  by  noon  she  bade  me  say." 

Disorder  grinned,  then  shuffling  walked  away. 

Entangled  were  the  silks  of  every  hue, 

Confused  and  mixed  were  shades  of  pink,  green,  blue  { 

She  took  the  thread,  compared  it  with  the  flower, 

"  To  finish  this  is  not  within  my  power. 

Well  sorted  silks  had  Lady  Rigid  sent, 

I  might  have  worked,  if  such  was  her  intent." 

She  sighed,  and  melted  into  sobs  and  tears, 

She  hears  a  noise—  and  at  the  door  appears 

A  pretty  maiden,  clean,  well  dressed  and  neat: 

Her  voice  was  soft,  her  looks  sedate,  yet  sweet—: 

"  My  name  is  Order  ;  do  not  cry,  my  love  ; 

Attend  to  me  and  thus  you  may  improve." 

She  took  the  silks,  and  drew  out  shade  by  shade, 

In  sep'rate  skeins  each  hue  with  care  she  laid  ; 

Then  smiling  kindly  left  the  little  maid. 

Matilda  now  resumes  her  sweet  employ, 

And  sees  the  flower  complete  —  how  great  her  joy  ! 

She  leaves  the  room  —  "  I've  done  my  task,"  she  cries. 

The  lady  looked  with  disbelieving  eyes, 

But  soon  her  harshness  changed  to  glad  surprise. 

"  Why  this  is  well  !  a  very  pretty  flower, 

Worked  clean,  exact,  and  done  within  the  hour: 

And  now  amuse  yourself,  ride,  walk,  or  play." 

Thus  passed  Matilda  this  much  dreaded  day. 

At  all  her  tasks  Disorder  would  attend, 

At  all  her  tasks  still  Order  stood  her  friend. 


ORIGINAL   POEM*.  127 

With  tears  and  sighs  her  studies  oft  began, 
These  into  smiles  were  changed  by  Order's  plan ; 
No  longer  lady  Rigid  seemed  sovere, 
Her  looks  the  negligent  alone  need  fear. 

And  now  the  day,  the  wished-for  day  is  come, 
When  young  Matilda's  suffered  to  go  home ; 
*'  You  quit  me,  child,  but  oft  to  mind  recall, 
The  time  you  spent  with  me  at  Austere  Hall, 
And  now,  my  dear,  I'll  give  you  one  of  these, 
Your  servant  she  will  be — take  which  you  please." 
From  me  Disorder  asked,  old  friend,  why  start  T 
Matilda  clasped  sweet  Order  to  her  heart, 
My  dearest  girl,  she  said,  we'll  never  part. 


THE  MUSHROOM  GIRL. 

Tis  surely  time  for  me  to  rise, 
Though  yet  the  dawn  be  gray; 

Sweet  sleep,  oh  !  quit  my  closing  eyes, 
For  I  must  now  away, 
The  young  birds  twitter  on  the  spray. 

It  is  not  for  the  dewy  mead, 
I  leave  my  soft  repose, 

Where  daisi?s  nod  and  lambkins  feed, 
But  where  the  mushroom  grows, 
And  that  the  sportive  fairy  knows, 

J'll  rove  the  wide  heath  far  and  near, 
Of  mushrooms  fine  in  quest: 

But  you  remain,  kind  mother,  here, 

Lie  still  and  take  your  rest, 
^  Though  we're  with  poverty  oppressed. 

No  toad-stool  in  my  basket  found  ; 
My  mushrooms  when  I  sell, 

I'll  buy  us  bread,  our  labours  crowned. 
Then  let  our  neighbours  tell, 
That  you  and  I  live  wond-rous  wtfl. 


«E1«1NAL    POEM*. 

BEASTS,  BIRDS,  AND  FISHES, 

THE  Dog  will  come  when  he  is  called, 

The  Cat  will  walk  away, 
The  Monkey's  cheek  is  very  bald,    & 

The  Goat  is  fond  of  play, 
The  Parrot  is  a  prate-apace, 

Yet  knows  not  what  she  says; 
The  noble  Horse  will  win  the  race, 

Or  draw  you  in  a  chaise. 

The  Pig  is  not  a  feeder  nice, 

The  Squirrel  loves  a  nut, 
The  Wolf  will  eat  you  in  a  trice, 

The  Buzzard's  eyes  are  shut; 
The  Lark  sings  high  up  in  the  an% 

The  Linnet  on  the  tree ; 
The  Swan  he  has  a  bosom  fair, 

And  who  so  proud  as  he  ? 

O  yes,  the  Peacock  is  more  proud, 

Because  his  tail  has  eyes, 
The  Lion  roars  so  very  loud, 

He  fills  you  with  surprise; 
The  Raven's  coat  is  shining  black, 

Or  rather  raven  gray, 
The  Camel's  bunch  is  on  his  back, 

The  Owl  abhors  the  day. 

The  Sparrow  steals  the  cherry  ripe, 

The  Elephant  is  wise, 
The  Blackbird  charms  you  with  his  pipe, 

The  false-  Hyena  cries ; 
The  Hen  guards  well  her  little  chicks, 

The  useful  Cow  is  meek ; 
The  Beaver  builds  with  mud  and  sticks, 

The  Lapwing  loves  to  squeak. 

The  little  Wren  is  very  small, 

The  Humming-bird  is  less ; 
The  Lady-bird  is  least  of  all, 

An4  beautiful  in 


•  RIGINAL  POEM?. 

The  Pelican  she  loves  her  young, 

The  Stork  his  father  loves; 
The  Woodcock's  bill  is  very  long, 

And  innocent  are  Doves. 

The  spotted  Tigers  fond  of  blood, 

The  Pigeons  feed  on  peas, 
The  Duck  will  gobble  in  the  mud, 

The  Mouse  will  eat  your  cheese. 
A  Lobster  's  black,  when  boiled  he's  red, 

The  harmless  Lamb  must  bleed ; 
The  Codfish  has  a  clumsy  head, 

The  Goose  on  grass  will  feed, 

The  lady  in  her  gown  of  silk, 

The  little  Worm  may  thank; 
The  sick  man  drinks  the  Ass's  milk, 

The  Weasel's  long  and  lank. 
The  Buck  gives  us  a  venison  dish, 

When  hunted  for  the  spoil ; 
The  Shark  eats  up  the  little  fish, 

The  Whale  he  gives  us  oil 

The  Glow-worm  shines  the  darkest  night, 

With  candle  in  its  tail, 
The  Turtle  is  the  cit's  delight, 

It  wears  a  coat  of  mail. 
In  Germany  they  hunt  the  Boar, 

The  Bee  brings  honey  home' 
The  Ant  lays  up  a  winter  store, 

The  Bear  loves  honey-comb, 

The  Eagle  has  a  crooked  beak, 

The  Plaice  has  orange  spots ; 
The  Starling,  if  he's  taught,  will  speak! 

The  Ostrich  walks  and  trots, 
The  child  that  does  not  these  things  know, 

May  yet  be  thought  a  dunce ; 
But  I  will  up  in  knowledge  grow, 

As  youth  can  come  but  once. — Adelaide, 


130  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

THE  SPIDER  AND  HIS  WIFE. 
IN  a  little  dark  crack,  half  a  yard  from  the  ground, 

An  honest  old  spider  resided ; 
So  pleasant  and  snug,  and  convenient  'twas  found, 
That  his  friends  rame  to  see  it  from  many  miles  round 

It  seemed  for  his  pleasure  provided. 

Of  the  cares,  and  fatigues,  rfynd  distresses  of  life, 

The  spider  was  thoroughly  tired  ; 
So,  leaving  those  scenes  of  contention  and  strife, 
(His  children  all  settlecj)  he  came  with  his  wife, 

To  live  in  this  cranny  retired. 
He  thought  that  the  little  his  wife  would  consume, 

T' would  be  easy  for  him  to  provide  her, 
Forgetting  he  lived  in  a  gentleman's  room, 
Where  came  every  morning,  a  maid  and  a  broom, 

Those  pitiless  foes  to  a  spider  ! 
For  when  (as  sometimes  it  would  chance  to  befall) 

Just  when  his  neat  web  was  completed. 
Brush — came  the  great  broom  down  the  side  of  the 

wall, 
And,  perhaps,  carried  with  it  web,  spider,  and  all, 

He  thought  himself  cruelly  treated. 
One  day  when  the  cupboard  was  empty  and  dry, 

His  wife  (Mrs.  Hairy-leg  Spinner) 
Said  to  him, — 'Dear,  go  to  the  cobweb  and  try 
If  you  can't  find  the  leg  or  the  wing  of  a  fly, 

As  a  bit  of  a  relish  for  dinner, 
Directly  he  went,  his  Jong  search  to  resume, 

(For  nothing  he  ever  denied  her) 
Alas  !  little  guessing  his  terrible  doom — 
Just  then  came  the  gentleman  into  his  room, 

And  saw  the  unfortunate  spider. 
So,  while  the  poor  fellow,  in  search  of  his  pelf, 

In  the  cobweb  continued  to  linger, 
The  gentleman  reached  a  long  cane  from  the  shelf, 
( For  certain  good  reasons  best  known  to  himself, 

Preferring  his  stick  to  hisjing-er.) 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  131 

Then  presently  poking  him  down  to  the  floor, 

(Not  stopping  at  all  to  consider) 
With  one  horrid  crash  the  whole  business  was  o'er, 
The  poor  little  spider  was  heard  of  no  more, 

To  the  lasting  distress  of  his  widow! 

THE  POPPY. 

HIGH  on  a  bright  and  sunny  bed, 

A  scarlet  poppy  grew ; 
And  up  it  held  its  staring  head, 

And  held  it  out  to  view. 

Yet  no  attention  did  it  win, 

By  all  these  efforts  made, 
And  less  offensive  had  it  been 

In  some  retired  shade. 

#or  though  within  its  scarlet  breast,- 
No  sweet  perfume  was  found, 

It  seemed  to  think  itself  the  best 
Of  all  the  flowers  around. 

From  this  may  I  a  hint  obtain, 

And  take  great  care  indeed, 
Lest  I  should  grow  as  pert  and  vain, 

As  is  this  gaudy  weed. 

THE  VIOLET. 

DOWN  in  a  green  and  shady  bed, 

A  modest  violet  grew; 
Its  stalk  was  bent,  it  hung  its  head. 

As  if  to  hide  from  view. 

And  yet  it  was  a  lovely  flower, 

Its  colours  bright  and  fair ; 
It  might  have  graced  a  rosy  bower, 

Instead  of  hiding  there. 

Yet  there  it  was  content  to  bloom, 
In  modest  tints  arrayed  ; 


132  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

And  there  it  shed  its  sweet  perfume, 
Within  the  silent  shade. 

Then  let  me  to  the  valley  go, 
This  pretty  flower  to  see  ; 

That  I  may  also  learn  to  grow 
In  sweet  humility. 


THE  WAY  TO  BE  HAPPY. 

How  pleasant  it  is  at  tbe  end  of  the  day, 

No  follies  to  have  to  repent  ; 
But  reflect  on  the  past  and  be  able  to  say, 

That  my  time  has  been  properly  spent. 

When  I've  done  all  my  bus'ness  with  patience 
care. 

And  been  good  and  obliging  and  kind, 
I  lay  on  my  pillow  and  sleep  away  there, 

With  a  happy  and  peaceable  mind. 

But  instead  of  all  this,  if  it  must  be  confess'd,- 
That  I  careless  and  idle  have  been, 

I  lay  down  as  usual  and  go  to  my  rest, 
But  feel  discontented  within. 

Then  as  I  don't  like  all  the  troubles  I've  had, 

In  future  I'll  try  to  prevent  it, 
For  I  never  am  naughty  without  being  sad,> 

Or  good—  without  being  contented. 


CONTENTED  JOHN. 

ONE  honest  John  Tomkins,  a  hedger  and  ditcher,"- 
Although  he  was  poor,  did  not  want  to  be  richer;' 
For  all  such  vain  wishes  to  him  were  prevented, 
By  a  fortunate  habit  of  being  contented. 

Though  cold  was  the  weather,  or  dear  was  the  food,* 
John  never  was  found  in  the  murmuring  mood  ; 
For  this  he  was  constantly  heard  to  declare, 
What  he  could  not  prevent  he  would  cheerfully  bear, 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  133 

For  why  should  I  grumble  and  murmur  he  said, 
If  I  cannot  get  meat  I  can  surely  get  bread ; 
And  though  fretting  may  make  my  calamities  deeper, 
It  never  can  cause  bread  and  cheese  to  be  cheaper. 

If  John  was  afflicted  with  sickness  or  pain, 
He  wished  himself  better,  but  did  not  complain; 
Nor  lie  down  to  fret  in  despondence  and  sorrow, 
But  said — that  he  hoped  to  be  better  to-morrow. 

If  any  one  wronged  him,  or  treated  him  ill, 
Why  John  was  good  natured  and  sociable  still ; 
For  he  said — that  revenging  the  injury  done, 
Would  be  making  two  wrongs  when  there  need  be 
but  one. 

And  thus  honest  John,  though  his  station  was  humble, 
Passed  through  this  sad  world  without  even  a  grumble 
And  I  wish  that  some  folks,  who  are  greater  and  richer. 
Would  copy  John  Tomkins,  the  hedger  and  ditcher. 

Jane. 


THE  GAUDY  FLOWER. 

WHY  does  my  Anna  toss  her  head, 
And  look  so  scornfully  around  ; 

As  if  she'd  scarcely  deign  to  tread, 
Upon  the  daisy  dappled  ground. 

Does  fancied  beauty  fire  thine  eye, 
The  brilliant  tint,  the  satin  skin  1 

Does  the  loved  glass,  in  passing  by, 
Reflect  a  form  genteel  and  thin  1 

Alas !  that  form,  that  brilliant  fire, 
Will  never  win  beholder's  love ; 

They  may  make  flutt'ring  fools  admire,- 
Persons  of  sense  they  cannot  move. 

So  glows  the  tulip,  staring  bold, 
In  the  broad  sunshine  it  abides ; 


1 34  ORIGINAL  POEMS. 

Like  rubies,  pearls,  and  burnished 
It  shows  its  bulbous,  glossy  sides. 

But  who  the  gaudy  flowret  crops, 
His  breast  or  sense  to  gratify  1 

Admired  it  blows,  neglected  drops, 
Like  a  fair  girl  with  scornful  eye^ 

The  heart's  internal  feelings  move,- 
By  virtues  seated  in  the  mind ; 

Beauty  excites  more  fear  than  love, 
As  fair,  but  empty  damsels  find. 


SLUTtlSHNESS. 

AH  !  Mary,  my  Mary,  why  where  is  your  Dolly  f 

Look  here  I  protest  on  the  floor  ; 
To  leave  her  about  ifi  the  dirt  thus  is  folly, 

You  ought  to  be  trusted  no  more. 

I  thought  you  were  pleased,  and  received  her  quite' 
gladly, 

When  on  your  birth-day  she  came  home ; 
Did  I  ever  suppose  you  would  use  her  so  sadly, 

And  strew  her  things  ovef  the  room. 

Her  bonnet  of  straw  you  once  thought  a  great  matter, 

And  tied  it  so  pretty  and  neat ; 
Now  see  how  'tis  crumpled,  no  trencher  is  flatter, 

It  grieves  your  mamma  thus  to  see't. 

Suppose  (you're  my  dolly,  you  know,  little  daughter, 
Whom  I  love  to  dress  neat  and  see  good) 

Suppose,  in  my  care  of  you,  I  were  to  faulter, 
And  let  you  go  dirty  and  rude  1 

But  Dolly's  mere  wood,  you  are  flesh  and  blood  living' 
And  deserved  better  treatment  and  care ; 

That  is  true,  my  sweet  girl,  'tis  the  reason  I'm  giving, 
This  lesson  is  sharp  and  severe. 


ORIGINAL  POVWS.  1 35 

•*Tis  not  for  the  Dolly  I'm  anxious  and  fearful, 
Though  she  cost  too  much  to  be  spoil'd  ; 

J'm  afraid  lest  yourself  should  grow  sluttish,   nc$ 

careful, 
And  that  were  a  sad  thing,  my  child. 

DECEMBER  NIGHT 
PARK  and  dismal  is  the  night, 

Beating  rain  and  wind  so  high : 
Close  the  window  shutters  tight, 

And  the  cheerful  fire  come  nigh. 

Here  the  blasts  in  dreadful  chorus, 
Roaring  through  the  naked  trees, 

Just  like  thunder  bursting  o'er  us ; 
Now  they  murmur,  now  they  cease. 

Think  how  many  o'er  the  wild 
Wander  in  this  dreadful  weather ; 

Some  poor  mother  with  her  child, 
Scarce  can  keep  her  rags  together. 

Or  a  wretched  family, 

'Neath  some  mud  wall,  ruined  shed, 
Shrugging  close  together  lie, 

On  the  earth — their  only  bed. 

While  we  sit  within  so  warm, 

Sheltered,  comfortable,  safe ; 
Think  how  many  'bide  the  storm, 

Who  no  home  or  shelter  have. 

Sad  their  lot  is,  wretched  creatures ! 

How  much  better  off  are  we ; 
Discontent  then,  on  our  features, 

Surely  never  ought  to  be. — J.  T, 

POVERTY. 

I  SAW  an  old  cottage  of  clay, 
And  only  of  mud  was  the  floor  ; 


?36  ORIGINAL    POEMS. 

'Twas  all  falling  into  decay, 

And  the  snow  drifted  in  at  the  door. 

Yet  there  a  poor  family  dwelt, 
In  a  cottage  so  dismal  and  rude ; 

And  though  gnawing  hunger  they  felt, 
They'd  scarcely  a  morsal  of  food. 

The  children  were  crying  for  bread, 
And  to  their  poor  mother  they  run ; 

"  O  give  us  some  breakfast."  they  said. 
Alas !  their  poor  mother  had  none. 

She  viewed  them  with  looks  of  despair  ; 

She  said,  (and  I'm  sure,  it  was  true,) 
"'Tis  not  for  myself  that  I  care, 

But,  my  poor  little  children,  for  you." 
O,  then  let  the  wealthy  and  gay 

But  see  such  a  hovel  as  this, 
That,  in  a  poor  cottage  of  clay, 

They  may  learn  what  real  misery  is  : 

And  the  little  that  I  have  to  spare, 
I  never  will  squander  away, 

While  thousands  of  people  there  are, 
As  poor  and  as  wretched  as  they. 


THE  VILLAGE  GREEN 
ON  the  cheerful  Village  Green, 

Scattered  round  with  houses  neat, 
All  the  boys  and  girls  are  seen, 

Playing  there  with  busy  feet. 

Now  they  frolic,  hand  in  hand, 

Making  many  a  merry  chain  ; 
Then  they  form  a  warlike  band, 
.  Marching  o'er  the  level  plain. 

Then  ascends  the  worsted  ball, 
High  it  rises  in  the  air ; 


ORIGINAL  POEMS.  137 

Or  against  the  cottage  wall, 
Up  and  down  it  bounces  there. 

Or  the  hoop  with  even  pace, 

Runs  before  the  merry  crowd ; 
Joy  is  seen  in  every  face ; 

Joy  is  heard  in  clamours  loud. 

For  among  the  rich  and  gay, 

Fine,  and  grand,  and  decked  in  laces, 

None  appear  more  glad  than  they, 
With  happier  hearts,  or  happier  faces, 

Then  contented  with  my  state, 
Let  me  envy  not  the  great ; 
Since  true  pleasure  may  be  seen 
On  a  cheerful  Village  Green. — Jane, 


THE  »NU, 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

A  Tr  ue  Story 5 

'The  Bird's  Nest         ........  7 

The  Hand  Post         .......  9 

Spring               ........  10 

Summer  11 

Autumn            ........  12 

Winter              -                            13 

To  a  Butterfly,  on  giving  it  Liberty  14 

The  Tempest            .......  15 

The  Church  Yard              - 16 

Morning  -         -         .        -         .         »         -         -17 

Evening .18 

The  Idle  Boy                      - 19 

The  Industrious  Boy         ......  20 

The  Little  Fisherman      -  -         ...        .         .         .  21 

Old  Age 23 

The  Apple  Tree 23 

The  Disappointment          .......  24 

The  shepherd  Boy    .......  25 

The  Robin                 27 

James  and  the  Shoulder  of  Mutton     ....  28 

False  Alarms           ........  29 

The  Child's  Monitor          ......  30 

The  Butterfly            -         -         -         -        ..         .        -  31 

The  Boys  and  the  Apple  Troe            ....  31 

The  Wooden  Doll  and  the  W*x  doll   ....  32 

The  Redbreast 34 

Idle  Dicky  and  the  goat             -         ....  34 

The  Nightingale                 ......  35 

Never  piay  with  Fire          ......  36 

The  Lark 36 

The  Truant  Boys               -         -         .         .         .         .  37 


00.NTESTS, 

Page 

George  and  the  Chimney  Sweeper  38 

Sophia's  Fool's  Cap     ,                          ,         .         .         .  39 

Washing  and  Dressing  40 

The  Plum  cake                                               ,         ,         .  49 

Another  Plum  cake           --.,,„  41 

fpr  a  Naughty  little  Girl  43 

Honest  Old  Tray               ......  43 

TO  a  little  Girl  that  has  told  a  lie         ....  43 

The  two  Gardens ^44 

My  Mother                , 46 

My  Father                 T 47 

The  Palaqe  apd  Cottage 49 

Ball          -         , 51 

The  Fox  and  the  Crow 51 

The  Mother's  Wish           ......  53 

To  Maria                           , 53 

The  Snail          ........  54 

The  Holidays            ,                                              -         -  55 

Old  Sarah  56 

Old  Susan                  T         T         r         .         .         .         .  57 

The  Gleaner     -         T         T         r         -         -         -         -  57 

Snow                 .         T         ,         -         r         -         .         .  58 

The  Pigs                                                       ...  59 

Finery              .         •,         »         r         ,         -         -         .  59 

Crazy  Robert             ,         ......  60 

Employment    -         -         -         -         y         r         .         .  61 

The  Fighting  Birds          ,        ,        T        T        .        .  62 

Creation            .         ,         -         r         ,         .         .         .  62 

The  Tempest  63 

Address  to  an  Infant          T         .         ,         r         .         .  64 

Turnip  Tops             -        -        ,        -        ,        -        .  65 

The  Vulgar  little  Lady      r  • 66 

The  Horse       -        ,        ,        T        .        .        .        .  66 

Meddlesome  Matty 68 

The  last  dying  Speech  and  Confession  of  Poor  Puss     -  70 

Day  72 

Night  74 

DeafMartha    -,.-,...  75 
The  Pin            -         -         .         .         .         '.    '    .         -  *      76 

The  little  Bird's  Complaint  to  his  Mistress,         -         -  77 

The  Mistress's  Reply  to  her  little  Bird  78 

The  true  History  of  a  poor  little  Mouse      .  79 

The  Chatterbox         --.,...  80 

The  Snow-drop 81 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

The  Yellow  Leaf 81 

Poor  Pompey's  Complaint 82 

The  Pond 84 

The  English  Girl 85 

The  Scotch  Laddie  -                  ...-_.-  85 

The  Welch  Lad        .-.-...  86 

The  Irish  Boy 87 

Greedy  Richard 88 

Dirty  Jack 89 

The  Farm         .........  90 

Reading 91 

Idleness 92 

The  Good  Naiured  Girls 93 

Mischief 93 

The  Spider 94 

The  Cow  and  the  Ass  95 

The  Blind  Sailor 97 

The  Worm 98 

Fire 99 

Air 100 

Earth 101 

Waier 102 

Tit  for  Tat       -    '     -        -        -        -        -        -        -  103 

Jane  and  Eliza -  104 

Eliza  and  Jane *  105 

The  Baby         -         -        -                  .         -         .  106 

The  Poor  O  d  Man 107 

The  Notorious  Glutton ,108 

The  Little  Cripple's  Complaint          -        -         -         -  110 

Poor  Donkey's  Epitaph     -         -         .         -         -  111 

The  Orphan              112 

Rising  in  the  Morning      -  1,13 

Going  to  bed  at  Night       -         ....        ~  1.13 

Frances  keeps  her  promise        -         -         .         -  114 

My  Old  Shoes 115 

To  George  pulling  Buds 115 

A  New  Year's  Gift 116 

The  Cruel  Thorn      .......  117 

Nimble  Dick -  318 

The  Linnet's  Nest             120 

The  Italian  Grayhound 120 

The  Use  of  Sight 121 

The  Morning's  Task 123 

The  Oak 1^5 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

Careless  Matilda 125 

The  Mushroom  Girl 127 

Beasts,  Birds  and  Fishes  r  ,  .  t  -  .  128 
The  Spider  and  his  Wife  -  -  -  r  -  130 

The  Poppy  -  -  -  -  -  T  .  .131 
The  Violet  .  -  -  -  .  -  -  -  131 
The  way  to  he  Happy  -  -  -  -  -  r  132 
Contented  John  -  -  -  -  r  -  -  132 

The  Gaudy  Flower    -         -         -         -         -         -         .133 

Sluttishness  134 

December  Night        -        -        -        -        -        -        -135 

Poverty  135 

Village  Green  -         .         -        -        .   '     -        .     13,§ 


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